


left with the ghosts of you

by Meadow_Wanderer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Stiles Stilinski, Alive Aiden, Alive Allison Argent, Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, Don't worry Pack comes back, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Lonely Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mixture of seasons 4/5/6a, Multi, Pack Feels, Pack leaves, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Season/Series 3b, References to Depression, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, The Deadpool (teen wolf), Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes Live, but injured, but not really, it's complicated - Freeform, revised of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23058838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meadow_Wanderer/pseuds/Meadow_Wanderer
Summary: The Nogistune and the havoc it caused was the tipping point for everyone. Once freed from the possession, Stiles woke up and found the pack began crumbling apart. One by one they all left, and with crushing guilt, he knows it's all his fault.The worst part of being left behind is the physical ache you feel at the loss. It's terrible to say, but he wonders if the grief would've been easier to deal with if they had died, mere memories you miss with your entire being but acknowledge they're beyond your reach of this world. But this, this reality of just knowing they are all out there, somewhere alive and what he assumes to be happy, hurts in a way he could never manage to explain.This was never how he expected to start his senior year.
Relationships: Danny Mahealani & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Liam Dunbar & Stiles Stilinski, Marin Morrell & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Everyone
Comments: 102
Kudos: 349





	1. today I'm kinda feelin' like a ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the title of this chapter is a lyric from Au/Ra's song 'Ghost'
> 
> Please ignore the mistakes or grammar errors. Thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few changes for canon:  
> -boyd and erica are still alive  
> -ethan and allison are still alive  
> -allison was hurt during the nogistune mess and ended up in a coma for a little bit  
> -they had dealt with the alpha pack (none of the pack died) and the nogistune (lots of choas, injuries, but none of the pack died though some like stiles and allison got badly injured)  
> -Malia and Kira weren't part of pack before they all left (don't worry they will come be later in the story) Jordan Parrish's supernatural reveal happened instead during that time  
> -this story has elements from season 4/5/6a  
> -the pack will be absent for a good chunk of this story but don't worry they'll be back
> 
> [theme song for the story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pu--POFN2h8)
> 
> As the story goes on, it'll be discussed of why everyone left or is gone. Take it with a grain of salt, cause the story is Stiles' POV and he feels so guilty cause of the nogistune so it can distort the truth a bit. :(
> 
> Also wanted to say with the way things are going out there irl, I pray everyone remains safe and healthy. Take care of yourselves yall <3
> 
> -/-

_A car door slams shut, a few of the other passengers sending him somber looks through the windows before the sports car peals out of the lot, smoke rising from where the tires meet the asphalt. Standing still on the curb, he watches the car getting smaller and smaller the further the distance it travels, until it finally disappears from view._

_And then it's just him, left behind in the dust._

-/-

In a two story house, settled in a middle class neighborhood, a teen boy is delaying the inevitable in his bedroom on the second floor. He's perched upon the edge of his bed, dressed for the day, but keeps his curtains drawn so that his room is still considerably dark.

Restlessly anxious, his hands keep gripping and un-gripping the straps of the backpack, toes stretching in the faded blue worn converse. He has 20 minutes to get to school, to begin his senior year and the thought makes the dryness in his throat feel more pronounced, like he's on the cusps of a sore throat. Maybe he could use it, skip by faking a sudden case of the plague, chip in his privilege token of being the Sheriff's son. But the most heartbreaking thing, that makes the dryness feel like a hand gripping tightly around his throat, is that no one would care, minus administration staff; he wouldn't even receive a concerned text from a friend.

You can't when no one is there to be concerned. 

A knock on his door catches him off guard, his father poking in head in and giving him a sympathetic smile. He's dressed in his uniform, cup of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag lunch with ' **Stiles'** scribbled down in sharpie on the front.

_Well, almost no one._

"Saw the jeep still in the driveway and wanted to check on you before I head to work." His dad opens the door, letting in the light from the hallway brighten the room considerably as he moves closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Senior year kiddo, can barely believe it. But remember if you need more time, I can give the school a call, tell them you're still out sick. Think of it as your one 'my dad-is-the-sheriff' card you can play."

Stiles feels his cheek lifting, a soft smile on his lips as he looks up at his dad. "Thought I used that one too many times already."

The elder Stilinski snorts. "In your specific circumstance, it gets renewed every year."

Stiles grins, but it falls quickly as it came, recalling every supernatural instance that plagued them the past few years, the last one ruining almost everything. He takes a shuddering breath, hands gripping tighter to the straps of his backpack.

His father notices his posture tensing beneath his hand, he always notices these days now that he's gotten the full exposure to what kinda fucked up town they live in.

The Sheriff bends down, giving him a gentle nudge. "Hey kiddo. You really don't have to go in today if it's gonna be too much. Last year was rough, and even with the summer off, you're still are recovering."

Stiles winces. "I know but..." He lets his shoulders slump. "I need this. I can't stick at home and go..." The word 'crazy' stills on his tongue, unable to be uttered after the false scare of the frontotemporal dementia his mom had. If there was a way to resurrect the dark trickster, just so Stiles could destroy it again, he would.

His dad gives him an understanding look, gentle as it is "Ok, just try to take it easy. And remember, you've got a meeting scheduled with the school guidance counselor Ms. Morrell this week. Deaton had recommended her to me early in the summer, and from what he shared, I think she could really help out."

The thought of having to hash out events of last year with a stranger is one of the last things he'd want to do, but if it pleases his father and possibly helps him navigate out of this shitty depression he's stuck in, then he's give it the good old fashioned try. All he can do is try.

He manages a nod and lets his dad helps him onto his feet, guiding him out of his room and down the stairs. In front of the front door, Stiles turns and tries to give his dad a confident expression, to which the Sheriff plays along and hands him his bagged lunch. "Call me if you need anything. I mean it kiddo, anything at all and I'll be there."

He swallows down the lump in his throat and throws his arms around his dad, arms squeezing him back just as tight. "Thanks dad," he manages to say without getting choked up.

Only after a moment does he pry himself away from the reassurance of his dad's hug, heading out the front door and down the porch steps, making his way to his beloved blue Jeep. She had been in the shop during the summer, and the repair guy said he fixed her up as best he can, commenting Stiles should think about sell her for parts. Laying a hand on the smooth steel, pulling the handle to open the door and hop in, he takes a moment to grip the steering wheel with some akin to reverence. He could never sell ol' Roscoe, no matter how much constant up keep she needed; the jeep was his mother's and damn if he'll ever part with something she loved.

Shutting the car door, Stiles inserts his keys and turns on the ignition, the engine rumbling alive and making the day already a bit more bearable. He looks up to see his dad standing on the porch, waiting to send him off. His dad sends him an easy smile, but he can see the worry lines around his eyes. Guilt sinks in his stomach to have caused and still causing his dad so much stress. Another thing that is his fault.

Stiles schools his expression, attempting to look ready for the world as he reverse out of the driveway, giving his father a happy wave before taking off down the street. The dread that he had woken up feeling becomes more pronounced the closer he nears the school. It's a dread that sinks down to his feet and sits heavy on his tongue, all encompassing so that it is all he can taste and all he can feel. Pulling into the full parking lot, the last few stragglers heading inside the building, he has to take a moment to push his head into the steering wheel and force himself to breathe. _Breathe goddamnit._

Stiles Stilinkski never expected his senior year to start this way.

-/-

Strolling into homeroom with a few seconds to spare until the bell, composed albeit slightly pale, Stiles hurries to take his seat with his head ducked down. His seat is right in the middle of the classroom, third row from the back. As he sinks somewhat gracelessly into the hard plastic, a few classmates send him a quick smile or nod hello, which he manages to return with a passible smile, that he hopes comes as not a grimace. It's only as he sets his backpack down by his side that he notices Scott's seat beside him remains empty, as if the entire class knows the two of them can't be separated. He only hesitates a moment before he sits back up right and stares ahead at the board, pretending to be enraptured with what's written so as to not focus on the way his throat aches. Now is really not the time to get emotional over an empty seat.

Luckily the homeroom teacher Mr. Calvin makes his way into the class room with an unfamiliar face following behind him. "Alright bad news summer is officially over, good news is that you all get to wake up and be greeted my lovely face every morning," the teacher announces, causing titters of laughter as the scattered conversations cease. Even Stiles feels his lips quirk.

"Now though you're seniors, I still expect you not to slack off. Especially as you've got to set an example for new faces that we actually learn in this place," a few more giggles follow his statement. "Speaking of new faces, we have a new student this year. Please introduce yourself," the teacher waves with a flourish of his hand.

The new kid is tan, with short brown hair and sharp eyebrows. "My name is Theo. Theo Raeken, just moved here with my parents. Not really much else to say." Stiles frowns, swearing to himself that he's heard that name before but for the life of him can't remember where.

"Well welcome Theo, we're happy to have you here," Mr. Glavin says. "Now why don't you sit..."

It's with an ill awareness that Stiles knows there's no empty seats, none but next to him. In Scott's seat.

"...next to Stiles. Stiles, can you raise your hand please?"

There's only one empty in this entire classroom, but he needs to raise his damn hand?! Nevertheless Stiles gives a lackluster wave and the new guy heads down the rows until he reaches the desk, placing his stuff on the desk and sitting in the seat. Stiles can barely catch the hushed whispers, either probably about the new kid or the fact Theo just ~~stolen~~ sat in a once sacred spot. 

"What's up man?" the new kid tosses at him, the teacher already beginning to pass out a stack of papers. 

"Nothin, just school," he finishes lamely, before shrugging at the absurdity of everything. "Not really ready to be back," he admits honestly.

"I feel that." Theo smiles. "So Stiles, that's your real name?"

"No," his light mood plummets, because only one person knew his real name and he's not fucking here right now. "It's a long ass polish name that everyone would butcher if they tried to pronounce it, so decided as a kid to go by this nickname instead." 

The guy hums, and his blue eyes take a quick survey of the room before they come back to rest on him, as if the kid is searching for something. It's an innocent look, but for some reason it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the feeling he gets when danger is near. Then again, living in Beacon hills should come with a warning that danger is always gonna be a steadfast neighbor who never moves.

The attention of the newcomer is thankfully broken as the girl seated in front of him passes back the stack of papers. Stiles' own front seat mate hands him a stack and thus class commences with thankfully little conversation. Well almost.

"Psss Stilinski," a voice tries to get his attention with the subtlety of a brick. 

He peaks over his left shoulder and sees Greenberg motioning at him, as he glances up at the teacher to make sure he's distracted.

"What?" Stiles mouths.

"Where's your bff McCall? Is he in another homeroom?" he swivels his head around as if Scott's gonna pop up from under a desk and wave hello.

Stiles would honestly laugh at how concerned fucking Greenberg if Scott's absence wasn't so painful. He swallows down the lump and leans over. "He's taking a semester or two off, homeschooling cause some family members are really sick," he whispers, attempting to make a legit excuse on the spot.

Greenberg's eyes widen, voice a stage whisper. "Oh man. His mom?" The noice causes a few curious glances, and even the new guy seems to lean in as if to hear the latest gossip.

Stiles swallows down the itching feeling of anxiety creeping up his arms, ignoring the eavesdroppers as he shakes his head. "Distant aunts, out east," he says with a wave of his hand.

"Oh ok," Greenberg nods his head and leans back in his seat. "Kinda sucks for the team, he was one of our best lacrosse players." 

Stiles just gives a vague nod and turns back around in his seat, willing down the anxiety he gets thinking of continuing lacrosse without his best friend. 

He can feel the tendrils of anxiety stirring in his gut when he thinks of doing anything without Scott beside him.

-/-

The morning classes pass by quickly and Stiles just kinda zones in and out. He feels bad he practically ditched Theo once the bell rung, the dude probably wanting a classic high school tour they always have in movies. But today he just doesn't have the energy nor heart to get close to another person only to lose them again. Luckily he spots a few girls in the hallways swarming around fresh blood, more than willing to show him around and get all buddy buddy. That guilt luckily abates. 

But when lunch time rolls around and he sees in the hallway the plethora of faces, reunited friends laughing and catching up, trading high five and locking elbows as they make their way towards the cafeteria, he can't bring his feet to take him there. Not when he would have to deal with the judgement of everyone else when he sits at an empty table and eats by himself like _he's_ the new kid at school with no friends.

Swiveling to go the opposite of the direction of the crowd, he escapes to the one place he knows he'll find peace in the solitude, the library.

And maybe it's dumb, but he inwardly hopes he runs into Lydia there to finally have a conversation between privacy of the quiet book selves. But he finds his hopes dashed when he discovers that besides a few people scattered here and there, it's a dead end. Obviously she must be probably dining with the jocks and cheerleaders, because unlike him she's been popular before supernatural shit happened and she remained popular after. She hadn't been in his AP History nor AP calculus, but there's other AP courses he hadn't signed up for or advanced to like AP chemistry and that's cause Harris is a dick.

He maneuvers through the shelves, a soft patter as he wonders across the title floor until he finds a secluded spot to sit down. He opens the brown paper bag, appearance more crinkled since this morning and begins snacking quietly on his lunch.

He takes this time to attempt at preparing himself for the one and only AP English class in the late afternoon, his last class of the day. Lydia will undoubtably be in it. But even in this quiet environment, he still can't find the words he wants to say other than 'sorry' and 'please forgive me'. And if he's really brave, ' _don't leave me_.'

The last time they had been in proximity to each other was when he collapsed in the tunnels, blacking out just as Lydia screamed Allison's name. The wailing sound haunted in his dreams nearly the entire summer, and months later, even now. It's one of the deterrents that kept him from approaching the banshee; that and the hospital visits. 

_Waking up in the sterile white rooms with his father sleeping vigilantly by his side, he hadn't quite none what to think. He couldn't tell if it was one of the Nogistune's tricks, another riddle where the answer would evade him until it drove him mad. It nearly sent himself into cardiac arrest if the bleeping hadn't awoken up his father, who sprung up from his chair to calm him down._

_"Hey, hey it's alright kiddo. You're safe, it's alright," his hand placed on his chest to steady him. "It's gone, it's gone."_

_His mouth had felt parched, body exhausted like he hadn't slept in years, and a biting chill overtaking him. "Did...did I hurt anyone?"_

_His dad face turned sympathetic, his hand running through his hair. "Nothing was your fault kiddo. Some people got banged up but they're ok."_

_The shivers start ahold of his limbs, as his dad pulls the blanket over him. He can remember blood and pain and scream- "Allison. What happened to Allison?"_

_At that his dad's fussing stops, his face grave. "She's fine, but just got hurt a little worse."_

_"Worse?" he croaks, his body fatigued and so damn cold. "What happened? Where is she? What did I do-"_

_"She's a coma right now, but-"_

_All he can hear is Lydia's scream echoing in his ears and images of Allison's blood splashing on the pavement. He can't breathe, limbs suddenly out of his control as the alarm goes crazy in the room. His dad is shouting for the nurse, his hands trying to hold him down against the onset convulsions. Staff are pouring into the room and they're giving him something, to calm down so he doesn't injure himself, but he doesn't care. All he Stiles can choke out is as he is pulled under into the ominous black is, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so-"_

Stiles blinks, a hand rubbing at his chest as if to scrub off the guilt that eats him up inside. It took him a week an a half to be released from the hospital and even then he was subjected to bed rest given his malnutrition, exhaustion, and concerning injuries that Melissa McCall had to make excuses for so the doctors didn't look to close.

_His dad took time off from the station to care for him, attempting his best to make homemade meals that weren't completely burned until he just gave up and brought take out home for him. Stiles thinks his dad got off easy on his diet due to his own health had been shit at that time._

_Scott was the most frequently visitor, but Stiles could tell he was distant, caring but he constantly had the look of contemplation on his face. Stiles didn't know he was considering leaving Beacon Hills for awhile, as if to get as far away from Stiles as possible. He probably only stuck around most of the summer because Allison was still at the hospital._

_Allison. God if Stiles wished for anything in this moment, it was that Chris Argent had pulled that trigger back in the loft when he had the chance. He didn't want to actually die, but it would've stopped all this madness, stopped all the pain he caused while under the Nogistune's control. It would've spared Allison from having to fight for her life in a hospital bed, laying prone while hooked up to a ventilator._

_After a few weeks of bedrest, he managed to sneak away while his father took a nap in front of the TV. He had to walk cause his car had been in the shop, but it felt nice soaking up the sun after being trapped indoors all day, wrapped in blankets. He could never quite regulate his body heat like he used to, now running on the colder side._

_When he entered the hospital, he snuck past the dozing front desk to wanderhis way to Allison's room, nervous fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. As he neared her room, he stopped in place, quickly inching back behind the safety of the dividing wall before peaking over the door frame. Allison was lying in bed, thankfully taken off the ventilators and breathing on her own. But there by her side was a familiar strawberry red head sitting in a chair, watching her best friend as she lay still, a crumbled tissue in her hand. His throat got so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe and he backed away, hurrying to retrace his steps and flee the hospital._

_As he trudged back home, moisture obscuring his vision, all he could think was that it was his fault. All his fault._

_He tried to visit several more times during his dad's designated naps, but each time Lydia or Mr. Argent was there. And each time he lost the confidence to say anything, because he knew apologies wouldn't heal Allison. But God, did he want to say sorry._

_One night, around 1 am long after his father retired for the night, he snuck out the house and made the long trek down to the hospital, hugging the treeline to avoid being seen by the stray cars passing by. Arriving there, he pursauded the late night nurse to allow him to visit a friend for a few minutes, stating his job had kept him away from normal visiting hours. $20 poorer, he ambled down the hallway and found the awaiting door, window shades open. One peak and with relief he found no one there but the sleeping huntress. He went inside, careful to not make too much noise and took a seat in the chair already stationed by her side._

_At first he sat on the edge of the seat, hands in his lap and knees bouncing anxiously. After what felt like ions of working up the courage, he reached over, hovering his hand over hers for a split second before gently laying it atop the slender hand. He took a long look at her, still as pretty as ever yet so still it felt unnatural. She's a fierce hunter with a laugh that could light up a room, yet her she lays so vulnerable, so still. He hates it. It's him that put her here. It's his damn fault._

_He lays his forehead down on mattress, as if to hide the sniffling._ _"I'm sorry Allie. I swear I'm so sorry," tears flood his vision, droplets dotting the white cotton sheets._

_He doesn't remember how long he laid there for, but the the night staff took mercy on him and gave him more time. By the time staff knocked on the door, informing his ten minute visit is up, it was well nearing 3 am. He sniffles, composing himself as he rises from his chair, lingering on her still hand before dragging himself away to leave. Even when he made it home to his bed, no one the wiser he had left, he didn't feel relieved or forgiven in the slightest._

_But he still kept trying to visit, chickening out every time he spotted two people he owed an apology the most. For a highschool student who constantly got in trouble because he would talk nonstop, he seemed to have lost the ability in the aftermath of this mess._

_It's only midway through that he realized things weren't gonna heal. No they were falling apart before his eyes. On a sunny Thrusday afternoon, s_ _tanding out of an empty hospital room that had once been Allison's, made that very clear._

_He hears someone approaching, a soft voice calling, "Stiles?"_

_He turns and see Mrs. McCall, donned in her pink scrubs and motherly concern."Where's Allison?"_

_Melissa's eyebrows widened before her face morphs into a melancholy emotion. "Her father is transferring her to a facility in France. He says they have top notch physio and occupational_ _therapists. She just got discharged this past weekend, and they arranged travel plans right away." The nurse then tilts her head. "Did Scott tell you?"_

_No. No he didn't. He doesn't talk about Allison when he visits. He barely talks about anything that happened during the Nogistune events. He just sits there looking like he would rather be anywhere else._

_Swallowing down the thick taste of misery, Stiles just puts on a fake smile. "Yeah, my memories just are not so good these days."_

_Melissa seems appeased by the comment, giving him a warm smile, and Stiles feels all the worse for thinking he could fix anything._

The bell rings overhead, snapping Stiles out of his memories. He looks down to see he barely touched his lunch, stomach unsettled by the emotions that clog his throat and churn his stomach. He can see through the gaps in the bookcase students rising from their seats, making there way towards the exit. Deciding he's not hungry anymore, he stuffs his lunch into his backpack, stands up to dust himself off, and mentally prepares himself for the rest of the day.

Easier said done when he had someone by his side, he quips as he leaves the library. 

-/-

The afternoon classes move quicker than the morning ones, and in no time the clock finally signals the warning bell for last period. Stiles takes a seat in his AP English, bracing himself for Lydia's appearance. He still hasn't come up with much to say, but goddammit he'll try because she's all he has left.

But as his classmates flood into room, taking their seats around him, there's not one sign of the flawless redhead in sight. Even as the teacher shuts the door and begins handing out the syllabus, downright giddy to reads through every tedious detail, his mind is stuck on the worry that something happened to the banshee. 

He spends the entire period inwardly fretting about all the possibilities, the supernatural ones he knows they can't handle when everyone who's dealt with those before got the hell out of Beacon Hills. The bell signaling the end of the class as people beginning to rise from their seats has him snapped out of it. He hasty grabs his things, hoping to find Lydia and finally have a conversation he should've had a while ago, but is sidetracked when the teacher calls his name, "Mr. Stilinski." 

His converse squeak against the floor as he stops, facing the older woman fully. Mrs. Willamenia Folley is almost a legend in the school. She's about 62 years old with white curls, a petulance for wearing chunky necklaces paired with bright colored shirts, and a love for all literary works penned by Virginia Woolf. 

"Yes Mrs. Folley?" he asks, hiding his nerves by adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. 

She gives him a warm smile. "No need to be so nervous Mt. Stilinkski, your previous teacher has spoken highly of you r you wouldn't be in AP." His frame eases just a bit, and the teacher leans forward as if to ensure no one can eavesdrop. "I just wanted to give you some encouragement for this year, to not fall behind. If you keep up your grades, you'll be Valedictorian for sure."

The ease he felt vanishes in an instant. "Valedictorian? I know I was nearly tied with Lydia, but I think she's gonna stay a point ahead me no matter how much extra credit I do."

Mrs. Folley shakes her head, smile still in place. "While that might've been true in the past, Mrs. Martin has decided to graduate early and is sending in her last assignments through email."

His stomach drops to his feet. "What..."

"Yes, it appears Ms. Martin has been expected to an amazing scholastic program in Paris," she blabbers on with excitement, oblivious to the turmoil and destress he's beginning to experience. "When I read the details of this prestigious program she sent in an email in beginning of June, why I was so thrilled for her I had to ensure she received all she needed so she could go."

"Oh," he manages to get out.

Mrs. Folley sends him a grandmotherly smile. "So keep up the excellent work I've been hearing so much about, and the Valedictorian title is yours Mr. Stilinski."

A knock interrupts their impromptu meeting as one of his classmates apologize for the intrusion. "Sorry Mrs. Folley, I had a question about the assignment for next month."

The teacher sends him a wink, chiding in a whisper, "Seems like you've got competition. Anyways please run along Mr. Stilinski, and do have a nice rest of your day."

He walks out the classroom in a daze, numb to the buzz of the students around him and the pair of eyes that watch his every move.

-/-

Once he burst out the school doors and nearly sprinted to his beloved blue jeep, he floored it home, driving like a maniac. It put stress on Roscoe he would try to avoid given any other time, but he needs to check for himself. He needs to know if what Mrs. Folley said was true.

Pulling into his driveway, he parks and barely shuts off the engine before he hastily exits the car and books it to his front door. His dad's cruiser isn't in the driveway, still working until around dinner time so he can luckily hide the panic attack that's been building in his chest all day and is soon to explode. He struggles with his keys int he lock, cursing as he drops them before he snatches them up and manages to unlock the goddamn door. He takes the stairs two at a time, tossing his backpack on the floor and sits on the chair in front of his desk, giving the mouse a sporadic shake to wake up his old computer. His knee bounces impatiently, lungs contracting in and out as he clicks on the facebook bookmark, the page slowly loading onto his feed. 

He types in Lydia Martin into the search bar, clicking on her icon and waiting what feels like ions before the page loads. He scrolls down and his hand halts at the first image he sees, feeling his breath stolen right out of his lungs.

The image is a self-taken photo of the Eiffel Tower from a short distance, aiming right up towards the top of the monument. Already complaining nearly 500 likes, the caption reads: 'Photographs just don't do you justice.'

It was dated nearly two weeks ago.

So Lydia went to France with the Argents. Lydia graduated without him knowing during the constant trips to the hospital to sit by Allison's side. Lydia, the girl he had a crush on since they were kids and became instead one of his dearest friends, left him and all the grief he caused in Beacon Hills behind.

Oh god, he drove her away just like everyone else.

Stiles feels his heart plummet and suddenly a waive of nauseous hits him as he hastily scrambles out of his seat, the chair tipping over onto the floor. He races to the bathroom, collapsing onto his knees in front of the toilet, lifting the lid and about dry heaves over the bowl, eyes clenched shut as he waits to throw-up. Yet minutes pass, stewing in this sickening nausea and memories of what he had done under the Nogistune's hold, and nothing comes up. The feeling gradually subsides but it doesn't stop the sob he chokes on, leaning heavily against the toilet as his shoulder start shaking.

He slides onto the floor of the bathroom, uncaring if it's dirty and curls into a ball, giving into the tears he's held at bay for far too damn long. The grief and guilt pour out of it in uncontrollable waves, and it isn't under two arms pick him up and hug him close, does he realize his dad came home early. 

"Shh kiddo, I got you. I got you," the Sheriff shushes him, holding him tight and close like when he was a child, collapsed in the hospital hallways after having just witnessed his mother dying. "It's gonna be ok."

"Dad," he keens, face wet with loss. His dad somehow pulls him impossibly closer, hand petting his hair soothingly. "They're all gone. They're all gone," he cries uncontrollably.

Just like back then, he only blames himself for how he ended up here, in a mess of his own destruction.


	2. call my friends but ain't nobody home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ms. Marin Morell](https://teenwolf.fandom.com/wiki/Ms._Morrell)
> 
> [This song helped me write the loft scene ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ6buLNIgs8)

_He's running, knees to the chest as fast as he can down the road, cursing that his trusted jeep was still in the repair shop. Once he had heard from Scott the brooding werewolf and his betas were leaving town today, he took off from his house, kicking up dust behind him. His lungs felts like they were on fire, coals and smoke choking him enough that tears flew from his eyes as he ran. His legs ached from being sequestered to bed rest for the past few months and a stitch began stabbing him in his side. But even then, he didn't stop running._

_He couldn't, because if did, he's terrified he's going to be too late._

_-/-_

His dad decided that it best he stay home the week, understandably concerned when he found his son, lying on the bathroom floor and visibly distraught. He lifted him up, laid him on his bed, and tucked him in like a child, a gentle hand petting his hair. His dad made the necessary phone calls to the school and even Ms. Morell that his son had fallen ill and would be absent for the week, hopefully returning to school Monday. He might have used his non-nonsense Sheriff voice to ensure no one questioned his authority on the matter. After he hung up, Stiles could hear his dad moving around in the kitchen, cupboard draws opening and closing. Ten minutes later, his dad comes back up to his room and a steaming mug of his mother's hot chocolate. More tears rise to the service because it's been so long since they've made one of them, the pain of losing her to much to bear thinking of touching her stuff. Yet here his dad places the mug on his bedside table, placing a kiss on his forehead before telling him to rest as Stiles sniffles.

His dad was the best.

He spends the rest of the week in bed, idly working on homework that won't be due for weeks. But mostly he sleeps. He sleeps like he did when he was first released from the Nogistune, wrapped in his warm comforter and barely able to make it out of bed until possibly awoken by a reoccurring nightmare. He's so bed bound, it's his dad who has to remind him to eat, when the rare thought of food can either make him nauseous or ravenous, with no in between. It's his dad who has to hug him close and comfort him when the nightmares seem all too real.

The times he managed to stay awake, he didn't dare venture online, not even to peak at what Lydia had been up to in Paris. The image of the Eiffel Tower was enough to deter him away from looking up what would only hurt him in the long run. He instead tried to read, until the words on the page blurred together and he threw the book aside, finding the activity pointless.

On the weekend, his dad drew him out of bed and guided him to take a seat downstairs on the couch for a movie marathon. He even bribed him with curly fires, and maybe that's why he let his dad cheat on his diet for the day as well. Overall it was nice, to spend time with his dad enjoying the good films and trash talking the crummy ones. 

When Sunday night draws to an end, Stiles makes sure to hug dad tight, the silent 'thank you' passed between them. 

_-/-_

Returning to school after spending nearly the entire first week absent, draws a bit of attention. Well that, and the fact his dad drove him to school in his cruiser, attempting to ease his son back into school. And deep down, Stiles would take a bit of staring if it meant his dad made his morning feel a bit less anxiety inducing. 

"One phone call and I'm there kiddo," his dad gives as parting words, gripping his hand when Stiles leans inside the passenger window. It makes him smile despite still feeling uneasy being back.

The only blessing he gets is that there's little fuss about his return, except a 'glad you're back' from Mr. Calvin. And of course Theo.

"So were you actually sick or playing hooky?" the guy asks, turned sideways in his seat to face him. 

Stiles blinks at the interrogation. "Uh..sick."

Theo narrows his eyes as if scrutinizing his words, leaning forward on his elbows before his face eases into a cocky smirk that reminds him so much of Jackson, he's struck speechless. "Well glad you're back." The guy rearranges himself facing front and opens his book innocently.

Stiles focuses on the class and tries not to fidget, namely away from Theo. Some just feels strange about the guy, yet he can't put his thumb on it.

The morning passes by when his mind is consumed by the missing work he gathered. But all too soon, the familiar sense of dread weighs heavily on his shoulders as the bell signals for lunch, students rising from their seats to make their way to the cafeteria. He takes his time dropping his books at his locker, adrift in the sea of locker doors banging closed and conversations flowing over the top of his head. He slams his locker door shut and turns only to meet Theo's eyes down the hallway, surrounded by a group of girls chattering his ear off. Something about the stare sends shivers up his spine, but Theo just smiles at him friendly and open. Stiles manages a half decent nod before looking away, shaking off the weird vibes. He lets his feet drag him closer down the noisy hallway, still debating if he wants to venture into there and face the judgement that awaits when he takes a seat at an empty table, or find shelter between the bookshelves of a library.

He guesses, either way, he's bound to be alone.

Stiles hesitates just outside of those wide open double doors, stalling for a little bit longer by bending down to pretend to tie his shoe as people pass by him, none the wiser for his anxiety. He swallows down his nerves, standing up to steel himself before he ventures into the lions den. 

Stepping into the cafeteria, examining the different clusters of people spread about, he's hit immediately not by the overwhelming surge of embarrassment. No, instead it's the overpowering grip of grief. It's the reminiscing of the first time he had come in with just Scott and the last time he had walked out with nearly the entire pack. But now it's just him.

He ducks his head down and makes his way across the cafeteria, aiming straight for an empty table. He doesn't feel like every eye is watching him, but maybe that's just the 'ignorance is bliss' shit. He pulls out a chair as it scraps against the tile, the seat facing towards the large windows with a clear view of the outside, and plops into it. Placing his brownbag lunch on the table, he hands beside it, taking a deep breath. You're fine, he repeats like a mantra in his head, as he begins to open the lunch and attempt to eat.

While he bites into his soft pb&j sandwich, Stiles doesn't dare to look around the cafeteria, least he see the pity or sneers from his peers at the loser sitting alone. Funny how even when it started as just him and Scott, he didn't feel like a loser. He felt like more, so much more than what he feels like now.

So imagine his surprise when a tray slides onto the table next to his spot. Stiles blinks, looking up with wide eyes to see Danny taking a seat beside him, a kind smile on his face. 

Damn, how could he forget about Danny? The guy has lost just as much as him. His best friend left to London, his boyfriend left with his twin to god knows where, and maybe Stiles is not the only who feels the world has shifted beneath his feet. Though the two fo them could be considered friendly towards one another, he doesn't know if he would label them as close friends. But with a gentle nudge of an elbow against his, alongside the understanding look in the lacrosse player's eyes, he thinks they could be.

Stiles trades him a genuine smile and they both dig into their food, enjoying the rest of lunch in comfortable silence. 

_-/-_

During gym, the senior members of the lacrosse team are gathered in the locker room, listening to Coach Finstock's speech.

"Stilinski!" The coach shouts at his entrance. "Wanna explain why you weren't here last week?"

Stiles blinks, a half a second delayed in answering because he's too surprised Finstock actually said his last name correctly. "I..I was sick, Coach."

Finstock does one of those impressions of someone attempting to sound stern and authoritative, but truly looks like teaching annoys the crap out of him. "Well next time, don't," he says simply before fixing the white board he managed to roll out out of his office.

Perplexed, Stiles just nods slowly, like he'll make sure his immune system doesn't fuck up in the future and takes a seat in an empty space on the bench. Beside him, Danny and the other seniors give him confused looks, while he shrugs as if to say _'just another Coach thing teehee.'_

Finally satisfied the board is in position and frankly off center in the room, Coach turns around and claps his hands together. "Well lucky for any sick players, last week was a review of some plays while I lamented the loss of a few good players. _McCall, Lahey, Vernon, Whittemore."_

"Coach it's been like over near two years since Jackson moved," Greenburg pipes up perplexed, brows furrowed under his mess of curls. 

Finstock expression turns annoyed, nose scrunched. "Well I'm still in mourning!" 

Stiles notices a few guys bite their lip, looking down to avoid laughing. Only him and Danny seem to share the loud coach's sentiment, though Greenburg's shoulders slouch, chastised yet still looking no less confused.

Finstock huffs. "Now this season is gonna be double the work without some of our players. It's up to you seniors to lead our team to victory and pick up the slack of the newbies."

The coach makes sure to make eye contact with each of them, as if they're entering them into an unspoken blood contract. When he gets to Danny, Finstock points two fingers to his eyes then back to him. Stiles peaks to his right and sees Danny just give a solid nod, and this time Stiles does have to keep the surprising laugh that threatens to bubble up. Fuck how long had it been since he had laughed?

When it's his turn, oh joy, Finstock just gives him an extra wiggle of his eyebrows and he barely maintains his composure until coach turns around to start drawing game plays that look more like single player tic tac toe games. But he does feel the shaking of Danny's shoulder needs to him, and finds that any lingering dread and anxiety has been replaced by a sense of warmth. 

-/-

After school, he drops off his backpack and heads to the field, hefting his gym bag on his shoulder. His solo trek is intercepted by a grinning Danny along the way, and he finds himself feeling lighter at the prospect of having company from now on.

Being some of the first on the pitch, they decide to have a little practice and sense they're both non-werewolves, Stiles actually feels excitement at the equal match. Well, match in terms of being human, because Danny is an athletic beats when it comes down to it. But over the years, Stiles has filled out a bit and he can attest that his limbs not so uncoordinated anymore. His stamina has increased tremendously as well, especially since he run and be able to keep up with the pa-

He halts, lump building in his throat on the unfinished thought.

Danny taps his shin with the lacrosse stick, voice gentle. "Hey, you good?"

Stiles shakes his head, forcing the thought from his head. "Yeah. Though hope you're ready to get beat down by my sick moves."

Danny snickers. "You're on."

The two of the trade off, checking each other, tossing the ball back and forth, attempting to be serious, but really it's just generally them horsing around. Stiles can't recall a moment in the past months since the Nogistune he's felt so free. 

"Mahealani, Stilinski!" Coach yells, guiding some seniors and new faces onto the pitch "Stop messing around and give me ten laps!"

"Sure Coach," they simultaneously answer, immediately fist bumping at the coincidence. They toss their sticks and take off to the track, the veteran players joining them. While most loathe running, he finds it cathartic. It's the race to get away from the worries he leave behind, the guilty and pain that follows him like a shadow. 10 laps passes in no time, and he finishes luckily at the head of the group, though he does have to bend over and catch his breath. Damn, his strength hasn't returned fully.

"What happened to that spastic energy

"Don't worry. Our places on first string are safe."

Stiles is about to take the assurance until he looks towards the field. "Uh, that's a maybe."

Danny follows his line of sight and finds himself just as wide eyes. There's someone playing goalie, and whoever this kid is, he was made to be goalie, catching every toss from two senior players aim at him. His reflexes are fast, not even a falter in his motion of catching and depositing the ball on the grass before moving onto the next one.

"Who the hell is that?" he asks, stunned.

The kid finishes and takes off his head gear, revealing a short rather tan dude who looks young. He's gotta be a freshmen. One of the senior players claps the freshman on the back, "Nice Liam. You might just be our first ever freshman captain." Hell he can practically see Coach's dreams of the championship in his gleaming eyes. 

"You think he's a werewolf?" Danny leans close in a whisper.

Stiles' eyebrows raise at that, whipping his head towards the taller teen who still has his glued to the kid. But his surprise disappears as quickly as it came, because it should be expected Danny's ex had filled him in on his true nature. He turns his attention back towards the kid, fresh faced and not even breaking a sweat as he drops down into perfect looking push ups.

"I don't know." Without much to say, the two of them walking over to where the team gathers. 

He's not sure what would be the better answer, that kid is a werewolf or that he isn't. 

_-/-_

The week passes by without much excitement, though he doesn't dread going to lunch when Danny's there at the table waiting for him. He might keep his eyes pealed for the freshmen who may or may not have a proclivity to howling at the moon, but the kid seems fairly normal from his standards based on past experience, which sounds as sad as it is true. But the weird part is feeling eyes on him throughout the day, but any time he tries to look around, he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. Perhaps paranoia, coupled with his odd sleep schedule and ever changing appetite is finally taking it's toll.

Thursday after school, Stiles sits in his jeep, drumming his fingers against the wheel. He's still parked in the parking lot, many students having already taken off for the day, he but doesn't have a clue where to go. Thursdays had once been pack meeting days, but now without a pack he's lost. He doesn't want to go straight home to an empty house while his dad is working the late shift. Danny has swim practice on Thursday afternoons so he can't exactly sit around like a clingy pest and wait to hangout with him; plus they might not be at that level of friendship yet. He doesn't feel like driving around aimlessly for a few hours, because he just isn't feeling it and it'd be a waste of gas money. 

Where can he go where it doesn't feel like the world is drowning him?

He turns the key to start his engine and steers out of the parking lot, his body directing him towards a destination before his mind can even truly make a decision. The drive is quiet, radio off as his car winds through the sparse roads of downtown. Before he knows it, a large building comes into view and his breath catches. He manages to park without swerving off the road at the unexpected location, shutting off the engine and hesitating for a moment. He leans forward, peering up at the building through the front windshield.

The loft stands still, abandoned of it's residents who have long since left.

He opens his door, cautiously before exiting the jeep and making his way inside. Every step up the rickety stairs echoes in the stairwell loudly, his fingers gripping the metal railing. It takes a while to reach the familiar floor near the top, worn shoes coming to a halt in front of the large metal door. Taking a moment, he reaches out and grabs the handle and pulls, the door luckily unlocked and sliding open easily to reveal the loft space just as they had left it.

He wanders further in, slowly taking in the afternoon sun low in the sky that floods the space with light through the large scale windows that take up most of the back wall. It dances through the rails of the spiral staircase, playing across the hard floor. The couch and empty bed in the corner still remain in the exact place they were left, as well as the metal table stationed near the windows, devoid of books that usually rest atop it. He rubs a finger on the table, finding a thin layer dust has begun to settle on the furniture.

Despite coming here a few times when no one was here, it feels only now so... _empty._ He can almost hear the echo of feminine laughter and the growls of ' _Stiles shut up'_ ; he can feel the looming presence of the quiet beta and the hesitant presence of the more skittish shy one. He can even imagine the unimpressed eye-roll from the teenager who looked so much like her brother, and the teasing smirk from their uncle as he watches.

The ghost of each werewolf lingers in this deserted space he takes in, like a distinct taste that stays on the tongue hours later. No matter how much he blinks, the images and memories remain. 

He's not surprised at the subtle moisture that begins to cling to his bottom lashes, ignoring the tear that trails down his cheek.

-/-

**_'Stiles! Sorry I've been so out of touch, reception at these settlements aren't always the best. But DUDE SENIOR YEAR! It's crazy! How are classes so far?"_ **

Stiles huffs, reading the text as he meanders down the hallway during his free period. Typical of Scott and his puppy excitement. He's the only one Stiles kept in contact since...well since everyone left. Scott's sabbatical is looking at maybe around half a year or more, because he said he needed to 'find himself as an alpha'. So his best friend decided to ~~abandon him~~ travel across the country and stay with different packs to learn from their head alphas while doing odds jobs here and there. Ms. McCall wasn't too happy with the idea, but caved when she saw the burden it was on Scott when Allison was the hospital and he was recovering at home, looking like death warmed over. Stiles thinks in part the decision came about because ever since Scott was bitten was a psycho Peter, they've never gotten down time to rest or learn. It's always been jumping the gun, facing attack after attack until this last one nearly got a few of them killed. 

Scott believes he had to leave to connect more with his wolf, to learn how to become a better alpha.

Stiles believes his best friend of 11 years got away as fast as he could from him cause he couldn't stand the sight of him. 

_' **Yeah man it's crazy!'** he types. ' **Classes are good so far, lacrosse too. Coach actually misses you**.'_

God even texting him, it all sounded so flat. But what could he say? 'He sorry I stabbed you, nearly killed your ex girlfriend, and drove everyone away, but please come back?' I mean Scott's a positive person, who believe the best in people, but Stiles is a realist who knows everyone is capable of horrid things, including himself. His phone buzzes in his palm.

_**'That's good! haha Coach, I miss his weird lectures. Dang I miss lacrosse, I'm sure the others do too."** _

God reading that, the hint that Scott's talking to the other werewolves makes his shoes feel like lead. He doesn't even bother telling him about the panic attack last week after finding Lydia left nor about his wacked out health. 

_' **Haha yeah** ' _he types before shoving his phone in his pocket, coming to a stop in front of the guidance counselor's office.

He fidgets in front of the door, before lifting up his fist to knock against the opaque glass. A calm voice calls out, "Come in."

Stiles enters the room, finding Ms. Morrell sitting behind her desk, smiling at him with a serene expression. "Stiles, it's good to see you. Please shut the door behind you and have a seat." 

He follows her instructions, shutting out the noise from the hallway as he takes a seat in front of her desk. Ms. Morrell gives him a welcoming look, the tenseness in his shoulders loosening a fraction, but he's still a bit uncomfortable. I mean she's seen him at his worst. He's spoken to her on and off through the years, but the last time he had contact with the druid it at Eichen House when she gave him amphetamines to keep him awake and out of the Nogistune's control, to prevent the entity from causing further harm, but in the end it hadn't been enough. 

They were supposed to meet last Friday, but his father contacted her to postpone the meeting. The druid had been graciously understanding. 

"How have you been doing? Your father says you're healing up ok?"

His foot taps the floor. "I'm fine. Everything is all good-" a lifted eyebrow, has him backtracking. "I get the occasional nightmare, you know the one where I killed everyone and get to wake up feeling sick with guilt."

She hums in understand. "Post traumatic stress disorder is not uncommon, especially after what you've been through. I'd been more concerned if you didn't have any reaction. But in time, they should pass."

Stiles just nods, tongue feeling too big in his mouth.

Ms. Morrell continue, "Other that, I hope you're settling into your classes ok? Mrs. Folley told me in the break room that you're on your way to becoming Valedictorian."

Stiles fingers clench around the arm rests, creaking in his grip. "Yeah," he manages to get out.

The druid tilts her head, kind enough to not probe into a subject she can see visibly affects him. Examining her face, Stiles can't tell her age. She looks young, could pass for a senior. It's probably the magic, and suddenly his mind if drifting into the possibilities of magic.

"Your friends, they..." she trails off, realizing it's another subject with a big _'_ ** _NO WAY JOSE!'_ **labeled on it when he shifts in his seat. She clears her throat, setting her joined hands on her desk. as she shifts subjects. "Have you been working at your spark?"

He settles in his seat at the topic change, giving a little shake of his head. "Summer I spent mostly stuck in bed. Haven't had a change to work with Deaton." 

Her mouth opens, face surprised. "Oh, you don't know?"

The question makes dread fill his stomach, a feeling becoming all too familiar these days. "About what?"

She holds up her hands placatingly. "It's nothing bad, I'm surprised you don't know yet. Deaton has relocated to where the Hale pack are residing."

"What?" the word come softly.

She nods. "He was the originally emissary so feel loyalty to reside with the remaining members of the Hale pack and help protect them where they currently reside. But don't fret, I will take over your training and hopefully get you to tap into your spark more."

The words go in one ear and out the other, because his mind is still stuck on the fact that Deaton relocated with Derek and the others. Possibly indefinitely. And if he is staying indefinitely, then that means-

"Stiles?" the druid tries cautiously.

"Um..." the sharp nausea rising up. "Sorry," he then rushes out of his seat, kneeling on the floor and pulling her trash can close to hovers over it. The counselor gasps, while he makes a choking sound and breathes harshly through his mouth, awaiting the impending doom.

A gentle hand rubs along his back, and he swallows as the nausea slowly recedes. He sits up straight, breathing in and out, feeling off-kilter and now a little dizzy. "Jesus," he scoffs.

Kneeling beside him, he mets Morrell's concerned expression. "Has this been happening lately?" she asks.

He lets go of the trashcan, bracing his hand on the corner of the desk to hoist himself to his feet, his legs wobbling unsteady. "A little but it's fine. Just probably a bad bug."

The druid stands up, not looking appeased at his excuse. "Maybe you should go to the doctor? Scott's mom is a nurse at the hospital right? I could give her a call for you-"

At the mention of his best friend he clams up, shaking his head. "No I'm fine," he says, trying to make a hurried escape as the room around him begins to sway. "I'm fine."

"Stiles," the druid's face grows more and more worried. "Stiles you need-"

"No, I-" he trips and feels his vision going blurry. "I'm fin-" 

He doesn't get to finish as he collapses onto the carpet, blacking out as Morrell shouts his name in fright.


	3. tell myself I'm fine but I don't really know

_He can only stare at the back of the signature leather jacket as he walks walk away from him, chest tight like the grip the older man has on the straps of his duffle bag. The werewolf's stride doesn't falter as he heads towards the loaded black Chevy Camaro, engine already running. T_ _he stubbled man doesn't look back even once._

_It hurts so viciously to realize that no matter what he said, or how much he pleaded, he was never gonna get the older man to stay, nor any of the rest._

_A car door slams shut, a few of the other passengers sending him somber looks through the windows before the sports car peals out of the lot, smoke rising from where the tires meet the asphalt. Standing still on the curb, he watches_ _the car getting smaller and smaller the further the distance it travels, until it finally disappears from view._

_And then it's just him, left behind in the dust._

_-/-_

Ever wake up from a long nap and feel worse than how you felt when you laid down? Well this feels like that, except he is awarded the lovely sensations of feeling like he's been bulldozed over and being disoriented on top of it, eyes fluttering open to a room he doesn't know until the sterile eggs shell white walls and the antiseptic smell hits cause his nose to twinge. Ah yes, the hospital. Fucking great.

Low beams of sunlight stream through the windows, as he shifts against the stiff cotton sheets. His whole body protest at against the action, in fact it's rioting against any movement and begging him to remain a sloth for the remainder of his sad pathetic life. Given his brain is still slow on the uptake of how he got here, he can't fault that as a bad idea. Sloth Stiles, watch him never move from this spot. Be amazed!

The tread of sneakers squeaking against the tile floor as pepto pink scrubs come into view, Melissa McCall's kind face greeting him. "Stiles, you're awake."

He swallows, his mouth feeling like it's full of cotton. "Alright, give it to me straight. How long do I got?" he jokes, lethargic and trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

Unimpressed, she cuffs on the head, far more gently than he deserves. 

Nonetheless he whines. "Easy Ms. McCall. I'm a patient."

"Well you don't make staying patient easy," she arches a brow. But she can't hold the stern demeanor too long as her expression melts into concern. She places a gentle hand on his arm, mindful of the IV he's hooked into. "You collapsed at school. The school guidance counselor Ms. Morrell called an ambulance."

At the influx of hazy memories from earlier today, he groans aloud, attempting to sink into the bed and become one. Just great. Not only will he be known as the kid who has almost no friends, but also as the kid to pass out due to being a wimp about old shit.

Melissa must be able to interpret his mumbles quite well, because her face goes sympathetic. "Don't worry too much. The ambulance guys informed me they escorted you on a stretcher down one of the back hallways while class was still going on. Only a few stragglers they came across."

Stiles just sighs, knowing a few eyewitness to his humiliation will tend to multiply fast when gossip is involved. 

Melissa squeezes his arm. "Your dad went to grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria and Ms. Morrell is still sitting in the waiting room. I'll go let them know you're awake."

She's out in the hall before he can stop her, left with only his thoughts as company. It's somber crushing guilt drenched memories from summer when he'd last been here floating at the forefront of his mind. His dad already worked overtime to pay for the stack of bills for his hospital visits and oh so fun stay at Echelon house. Fat load any of it did, because int he end he was still possessed and they were left with the mounting debt.

Whatever landed him here again needs to be resolved quickly cause like hell is he racking up costs by staying overnight for 'observation'.

Footsteps approach his room and his dad is the first one to appear, looking both relieved and concerned to see his son back in a hospital bed. His dad is by his side, running a comforting hand through his hair. "Hey kiddo. Gave us quite scare today."

Ms. Morrell and Melissa are at the foot of his bed, the former peaking at him with a look of pity. Great, just another event she can add to her detailed report on how he barely functions properly as an almost adult.

He grimaces, groggily mumbling, "Sorry, don't remember putting it on my to-do list for the day."

His father snorts, his frame easing a bit. He then casts a thankful smile at Ms. Morrell. "Thank you again for helping him. Did something happen before he...fainted?"

Geez dad thanks for the hit to his self-esteem.

The counselor waves off the gratitude. "It's no problem. He looked peaky and..." he panics for a moment, thinking she's gonna revealing the conversation and pseudo-nausea, but she meets his eyes and must be able to read his expression. "...and suddenly as he stood up he got woozy and collapsed. I couldn't wake him up so I called an ambulance," she shares, taking mercy on his fragile state.

His dad sighs, looking like he aged ten years in a day. But nevertheless he graces his son with a fond look, making Stiles hating every second he spends in this hospital that's costing them.

"Did you find out the cause?" Ms. Morrell addresses Melissa.

Melissa grabs the clipboard hanging on the bed frame chart, and scans through the documents, shaking her head. "His bloodwork came by fine, though they had to run it twice since the results were skewed. He's maybe a little bit of a low hemoglobin count but other than that I think he's just dehydrated. Besides an IV and some rest, I don't think there's nothing much else to do."

Both Stilinski men breathe a sigh of relief, the older because his son is ok, and the younger because that means he can be discharged within an hour or two tops.

Ms. Morrell seems appeased by the news as well. "That's good to hear." She then brings up another matter, mindful of the open door leading into the busy hospital. "Sheriff, Ms. McCall, I should mention if you were both unaware Deaton is currently not in town, so I'll be taking over for Stiles' more...special interests," she says with a low tone, careful of eaves droppers. His dad straightens up at that, still wary of supernatural stuff after the nogistune. The druid seems to pick-up on his dad's anxiety, and quickly calms his fears. "Not to worry Sheriff. I just aim to help Stiles get more in touch with his inner power. It may help him heal faster and avoid incidents like today."

His dad glances towards Melissa, who shrugs like 'it can't hurt can't it?'. "I'm still not 100% understanding what his 'inner power' is. But the gist is, you'll train him to control it? To able to protect himself?"

She dips her head. "Control it, utilize it, and ensure that it does not overwhelm him. My guess he's out of wack since last year with..." she trails off, each of them catching her rift.

"How often?" he pipes, unable to stop from giving into the need to yawn.

She tilts her head, thoughtful. "Well, given you're still in the midst of recovery. We can start once a week and build from there?"

Stiles is ready to agree, but looks to his dad for permission. His dad has his 'pondering for a moment' expression before he concedes. "If it helps him, then I'll let him practice. But if it makes things worse for him, whether his health or grades, then I want it to stop."

Morrell nods. "Of course Sheriff, I assure you, that I also only best for Stiles." She then looks towards him. "If rest today and tomorrow, we can try Sunday afternoon. How does that sound?"

Stiles yawns again before slumping in his bed. "Yeah I'm down with the get down."

"We can meet at the old vet clinic. It's currently vacated, but a good practice space." With no opposition, she heads towards the door, calling out to him before she disappears into the hallway. "I'll be going. Rest well Stiles. I'll see you then." 

Now just the three of them, he looks up at Melissa, giving her his best puppy eyes. "Can I be discharged now?"

-/-

Saturday he dedicates sonnets to his bed, his pillow well loved with the little he spends away, more exhausted than he's already been. It's what allows him to not give a shit about his plummeting social status. Plus his dad doesn't let him lift a finger, too cautious after his fainting spell.

Though committed to no human contact outside the household, he does get a few texts. A few from Scott with sporadic updates about the pack he's currently bunking with, oblivious to the turmoil back home. And one from Danny checking in on him, worried when he heard a rumor going around about him. The lacrosse star also shared he dispelled the gossip, using an excuse that he's been under the weather, recovering from the flu. A part of him is embarrassed, but he's more touched than anything that Danny would go to such lengths. Like a friend would.

The kindness allows him to sleep better that night, the nightmares for once not plaguing him. 

Sunday after lunch, he pulls his jeep into the deserted parking lot of what used to be the veterinary clinic. Some part of him nearly scans the building, hoping to spot Scott's motorcycle, but he steels himself against doing such a stupid thing and instead gets out of the car to head inside. 

Walking into the clinic is like a stumbling into a ghost town, the waiting room sparse of any furniture nor posters that used to wall on the walls. And certainly no animals making a ruckus nor mysterious veterinarian lingering mysteriously. His fits shift, unnerved by the reminder things have changed, people have left. And only he remains.

Heels taping against the floor grow louder from the back before Ms. Morrell leans her head out in the hallway, her expression warm. "Stiles, come on back."

He swallows before following the druid, back into the sparse operating room. All the tables have been pushed to the wall, cabinets devoid of everything but some leftover glassware or bare. He's hit by a wave of nostalgia, years of memories flashing before his eyes. And when he spots the metal tub pushed to the back wall, remembering the sacrifice him, Scott, and Allison made to save their parents. It was the sacrifice that opened a door, a door that let in that terrible thing that destroyed everything for him.

"Stiles?" 

He startles, realizing he had zoned out as Morrell stands beside him, gaze sharp yet concerned.

"Sorry. Weird being back here."

She hums but otherwise doesn't probe for more. For that small mercy, he's grateful. 

He slaps his hands against his thighs, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Soooo, how do these lesson go?"

"We'll first start by meditation. Getting in touch with our power," she motions towards her chest. "Then we'll practice through a few routine tricks, gradually build up to more complicated spells. If you're ready to start, we can begin right away," she motions towards the middle of room to take a seat on the floor.

He nods, ambling towards the spot where he plops down. She takes a much more graceful seat, two feet away and facing him. She sits criss cross, back straight with her palms lying face up on her legs. Her mirrors her position, rolling his shoulders until he feels like he's got it down somewhat. 

She smiles and proceeds to close her eyes. "We're gonna start with deep breaths, in and out. Let the surroundings fade and focus your concentration inward, search out for your spark."

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to follow her instructions, breathing deeply through his nose and out. He thinks of his chest, his heart, his lungs, and some source stuck in the middle of all that. It's not easy and he can feel his foot shaking anxiously and fingers tittering against his legs.

"Relax," Morrell stresses, her voice like silk.

Suddenly his frame loosens, his breathing eases and the jitters that racked his limbs disappear all together. The room surrounding then vanishes like smoke and in his mind he sees a bright glow, like he's staring straight at the sun. He dares to reach out, delicate when he cradles it and right away it pleasantly warms him all over. An unexpected sob catches in his throat because it reminds him of the long forgotten touch of his mother's caress. 

"Stiles?"

He opens his eyes, Morrell gaze empathetic and searching. He swallows past the lump and wipes away the moisture. "Sorry, it just wasn't unexacting that."

"You felt it?"

He nods.

"What was it like?"

"It's..." he pauses, unable to find the right words to describe it, so he settles on one word. "Warm."

She appraises him then turns towards a table with contents lying strew atop of it and waves her hand, a mason jar filled to the brim with a dark powder floating over towards them. She clutches it and places it down in between them, twisting the lid off. He peaks inside, recognizing the contents now he can see it clearly. "Mountain ash?" 

She dips her head. "Now try to encircle us. Deaton mentioned you had a natural gift with this."

He tries not to blush, like geez the doc said that? It was like once or twice he got the ash to do _something_ , but here's to hoping third time's the charm. Nonetheless he reaches outward to scoop out a handful and-

The jar skitters towards Morrell before he can manage to touch it, some ash spilling out of the jar and over her pants. The druid raises an eyebrow and he chuckles nervously, scratching behind his head. "Ha sorry I'll try again."

In order to avoid another blunder, he doesn't reach out to the mountain ash, instead focuses on willing it to rise on it's own. It take a couple of seconds before it gradually lifts like rising smoke, from the jar and the mess on Ms. Morrell's pants, swirling like a black cloud. He twists it, melding it before he flings his hand out.

The ash scatters the room until it forms a perfect circle....around him.

He blinks. "Um..."

Morrell huffs, luckily amused more than annoyed and snaps her fingers, the now wider mountain ash circle expanding to include both of them. The waves over an unused candle stick with a flutter of her hand, landing like a butterfly in her palm. She holds them out towards him. "Try this."

He takes it, and focuses his concentration on the unlit wick, picturing a tongue of flame in his mind. There's the barest twinkle of orange as a wisp of smoke rises from it, slowly glowing brighter until it lights with a single flame. "Holy shit" he laughs, giddy at this small feat. 

He glances at Morrell, who is smiling indulgently at him. She waves over a supply of candles, placing them along the edge of the mountain ash circle, about a foot of space in between each candle. "Light them."

He takes a deep breath and hones his force on the candle to the right of him. A small flicker occurs before it lights, but he can't relish in the victory quite yet. Lighting each candle takes time, slower than he would've liked but soon he gets the last one done within in ten minutes. He lets out a sigh, feeling a bead of sweat trail down from his hairline. 

Morrell appraises the work, nodding in appreciation. "Good, now-"

In an instant, all the flames are snuffed out, leaving on trails of smoke behind. The only one remaining is the one he's holding. Morrell narrows her eyes and waves them all back. It's calm for a moment before they grow in size, enough that Stiles scoot further away from the edge. "Whoa hey."

They are snuffed out before Morrell can blink, the candles thrown away, scattering across the floor and under cabinets. Throwing a side-eye at the druid, he watches as she frowns, obviously not responsible for this. She looks towards him, and motions him closer. "Let me examine your spark Stiles."

He scoots closer and watches as she lifts her palm, eyes narrowing. He feels her magic more than sees it reaching out towards him, attempting to engage his spark when the force is suddenly bounced back, the glass cabinet doors and empty vials on the counter shattering loudly. Both him and Morrell flinch, their eyes surveying the mess, both in surprise and maybe a bit of fear on his part.

"Uh..." he starts awkwardly. "Did you do that?" 

The druid frowns, a small shake of her head. "No." She reaches over and plucks the candle stick from his hand, setting it aside. She then rearranges herself to the pose from the relaxed beginning. "I think it's best if we go back to meditation."

Stiles eyes the broken glass warily but complies with her suggestion.

-/-

Returning to school has some stares and not so hushed whispers waiting for him. Danny flanks his side the minute he enters the building, and a few steely glares luckily wards off the curious gallery. When he gets to his homeroom, he turns to the taller boy and gives him a genuine grin. "Thanks."

Danny waves off the gratitude. "It's what friends do." 

Friends. He likes that word. "Yeah. See you at practice," are his parting words before heading into the classroom.

He pays little mind to the sneaky looks he garners and swaggers to his seat. Rummaging through his backpack, he grabs his spiral notebook, tosses it carelessly to on his desk then leans down to place his bad down on the floor. He jumps nearly out of his seat by a hand slapping on his back.

He glances up at a simpering Theo. "Hey man, I heard you collapsed Friday. You doing ok?"

Stiles clears his throat and nods. "Yeah, just was getting over a flu. I'm fine now." Though he straightens upright in his seat, Theo hand doesn't dislodge. In fact he feels like he squeezes his shoulder tighter, his heckles rising at the lingering touch.

"Well, glad your ok. Don't worry about the gossips, they'll find more interesting shit to move onto." 

He nods awkwardly. "Yeah I hope."

Theo's gaze doesn't leave him and he feel something sharp scrapping against the nape of his neck. He's about to smack the hand away to see what the hell it is, but the two of them are both startled when a girl leans over on his desk. "Stiles! I heard what happened. Are you ok?"

Theo drops his hand, while Stiles leans back in his chair and even shies away from the guy. "Yeah just was sick. I'm better now. Thanks Gwen." 

The girl giggles, nodding before skipping off to her seat. The bell rings but before he can focus on the teacher, Theo speaks, making him grow tense. "Guess I was wrong. You'll always remain _interesting,_ won't you Stiles?"

He peaks over and sees the edge of Theo's smirk, before his attention turns towards the teacher. What the actual fuck?

-/-

He puts the weird as fuck encounter with Theo out of his mind, writing the guy off as a creep. By the end of the week he would like to think that most of the week can pass without a hitch, but that's almost hoping for too much.

The first lacrosse scrimmage of the year against Devenford Prep takes places Friday night, and Stiles is first line. He's able to push away the sad reminders that familiar faces won't be here, and instead focus on the fact that the bleachers are packed and the crowd is rowdy. Scanning the crowd, he manages to spot his Dad speaking to a few other parents, looking excited and proud. It should be enough to immerse oneself into the game, forget thy troubles so to speak, but Stiles immediately takes notice that the golden boy freshmen looks to be antsy. He'd even go as far as to say his expression is...agitated. 

Warming on the field before the match, he turns towards Danny and motions with his head at Liam. "What's up with him?"

Danny stretches in a lunge his way, voice low. "Heard he got expelled from Devenford Prep before he came here. Something about anger issues."

Stiles eyes cut to the kid gazing at their opponents, but whose head is curiously titled to the side, as if he can hear them from over here. Can he?

He can't worry about it when Coach blows his whistle, signaling them to gather around.

"Okay ladies, this is our first game and so help me god, do not start off my year bad. I will fail you all in gym, and cite the reason as case of Greenburg."

The curly haired senior gasps, sounding betrayed while the others snicker. "Coach."

Finstock rolls his eyes, but otherwise doesn't appear serious. "I'm kidding kid. Just go out there and win. Got it?"

"Yes Coach," the simultaneously respond, they then places their hands in the middle before yelling "Beacon Hills!" 

He and Danny run out onto the field along with a handful of other guys to the hollering of cheers, gearing up for the start of the game. He's positioned left midfield and through his mask he surveys the opponents, going down the line and their own offense until he catches the back of one of Dunbar's jersey. Jesus the kid is good to be put in first string and thrown straight into the beginning of a game.

The referee blows the whistle and the game is underway. It's brutal the way the defensive line crashes into their players, one tackling Dunbar straight out of the gate. Stiles winces but focuses on sprinting forward into an open position, He looks back and sees their captain toss the ball his way, and he swings up and catches it. He lands with a few seconds to spare of the opposing team closing in, but his body moves without instruction into a twist that sends the opposing players crashing into each other. He's impressed enough he almost freezes but he keeps running, passing the ball Danny as the tall lacrosse star who charges towards the goal, shoulder checking one of the players out of the way. Keeping up on the opposite side of the field, he gets a full view when the path is clear, watching Danny take the shot that sails straight into the net.

"That's what I'm talking about Mahealani!" Coach yells from the side line, somehow heard over the roars of cheers. "And nice pass Stilinski!"

"Wooooo!" Stiles laughs, bright and carefree as he runs towards Danny, who jumps to hip bump him.

They both run back to their starting positions, high off the adrenaline. Stiles glances over and sees Liam in front of the player who tackled him, Talbot across the back of his jersey. Whatever the guy is saying has the freshman seething, there's some bad blood between them, and look about ready to trade blows before the whistle is blown to reset. 

He takes his place, eyeing Liam anxiously. After a few seconds, the referee blows the whistle and the opponents charge forward to the goalie. However before they can get there, the player with the ball is full out body checked by Greenburg off all people, sending the ball flying. Liam is suddenly there, scooping it up and dashing through players like he's a speed demon. Kid is small but fast as hell, almost as if he's a-

Liam wrenches his stick forward, hurtling the ball straight through net. The whole Beacon Hills team and crowd of supporters go wild, and Stiles can barely contain his excitement. Of course that's when things go south.

Liam turns to face the crowd when he's suddenly tackled by that fucking douche Talbot, hard enough Liam's helmet is thrown off. The crowd boos loudly as Stiles and the others take off towards the too, the referee blowing his whistle and throwing out a yellow card. Even then Talbot stands up and looks particularly smug, turning to walk away from a sprawled Liam. That smugness doesn't last long when Liam springs up and pushes Talbot from behind, sending the kid flying forward and ending in a heap on the field. 

Immediately it's an all out war between the two teams, arguing and yelling, pushing. Commotion on both the field and in the stands, But what Stiles is focused on is the Liam's seething face and the glowing gold eyes. _Shit._

He pushes away the opponent trying to start and fight and runs straight at Liam, crashing into him and pushing him back. The teen though is losing himself to his temper, and any attempts to hold him back is pushing Stiles forward, dragging him cleats through the grass. Suddenly another body is there, Danny helping push Liam back. He's lucky everyone is so preoccupied with the fighting going on behind them they don't notice the eyes, nor when the kid actually growls. Not here dammit!

"You need to calm down!," he shouts in Liam's ear, using his whole body weight to dig his feet into the ground. "Your eyes are showing!"

Liam's head whips towards him, gold eyes burning like lava. But then the kid blinks and suddenly sags, letting the two of them push him back further. His eyes recede back to their normal color, and he looks suddenly lost. "W-what-"

"Hey," Danny leans in, grasping his shoulder firmly. "It's ok."

By then the fight is being broken up, teams receding back to their sides. Coach runs over, looking annoyed as hell. "Dunbar, you're lucky you scored just then. I'm going look past your retaliation because the kid was a dick who deserved a good push, but I catch you starting another fight, you'll be benched."

Liam nods, but overall still looks out of it.

"Now get back to your starting spots," Coach then jogs back to the sidelines.

Liam flushes as the two older boys turn to look at him, ducking out of their reach to pick up his helmet and run back to his spot.

"Still think he's not a wolf?" Danny asks.

Stiles sighs aloud. _'Fuck.'_

-/-

The game is a tough one, and Stiles is definitely walking away with some bruises but they manage to beat Devenford Prep by the skin of their teeth. Stiles spent most of the game altering between paying attention to the match and coming up with a plan of how to handle a lone wolf.

Freshly showered, he waits with Danny in the hallway outside the locker rooms for Liam. Numerous players come out before the teen, fist bumping and wave goodbye with invitations to a few parties happening. Maybe they will, maybe they won't. But right now he's gotta bigger fish to fry.

Liam is one of the last ones out, and immediately looks sheepish when he spots them. Stiles waves him over, and the kid looks like he's about to make a break. Danny gives him an unimpressed eyebrow raise and it's enough for the kid to walk over, looking like he's about to be executed. Dammit pups are not supposed to be adorable. When Liam stops in front of them, he doesn't try to meet their gazes, keeping his eyes glued to his shoes.

Welp he can work with that. "Listen, I don't know if you what's going on with you or if you have a pack. But we can help you."

Liam bites his lips before he asks quietly, "Help with what?"

"Being a werewolf," Danny answers, not tiptoeing around the issues. 

Liam frowns, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water but otherwise says nothing.

"It can be scary," Stiles emphasizes. "It's especially scary when you feel like you can't control it. But we can help you learn, so that you don't end up hurting anyone."

Liam hand clenches around the strap of his bag, but remains silent. Stiles shares a look with Danny, who just shrugs. "We're not gonan force you to accept our help, but if you want it, we'll be here."

Stiles gentle claps a hand on Liam's hand and then he departs with Danny, leaving Liam contemplating their offer.

-/-

The next weekend passes by with another magic training sessions that produces as floundering results as the first. Except it goes worse, much worse.

"Stiles I'm going to throw something your way and you need to stop them. Protect yourself," the druid instructs from where she stands across from him in the clinic room. "Remember the meditation we did and focus on your spark. Utilize it. Believe in it."

Stiles nods, bracing himself. She studies him for a moment before she throws a jar at him, to which he easily intercepts and places it on the ground beside him. She throws numerous objects, ranging in size. She even tosses a goddamn chair at him that he catches mid levitation, placing it on the ground a carelessly with loud clang. He's sweating, the strain of this exercise taking a toll on him.

Morrell straightens up. "Now, I'm going to throw my force at you, and you need to fight against it."

He swallows his nerves and steels himself. He gets a moment to compose himself before she throws her hands out and he braces himself for the impact or pain, not sure what's coming.

When suddenly she goes flying back and crashes into the concrete wall, falling onto the tiled floor with a resounding smack. He stares in horror when her head bashes against the ground.

"Mrs. Morrell!" he exclaims, rushing over to kneel beside her. His hands hover over her uselessly. "Shit! I'm sorry. Are you ok? Fuck, should I call an ambulance?!"

She rolls over onto her back, blinking dazed as a bruise already begins to form on her forehead. He touches her cheek without thinking and gasps when veins immediately start appearing on his fingers, traveling up his hand towards his forearm. "Whoa what the hell."

They look like the ones he's seen appear on the werewolves when they drew pain, but these ones are gold. 

A gentle hand grasps his wrist and his eyes snap towards Morrell's, finding the bruising disappearing before his eyes and the cloudy look in her eyes clearing. In fact she sits up and rolls her shoulders, looking disturbed by the lack of pain she's feeling. He lifts his hand to stare at it, the gold veins receding back to where they came from. 

"What was that?" he asks, confused as hell.

"Your power viewed my attempt as a threat and reacted," she explains calmly.

"Ok, but I mean the..." he wiggles his fingers in the air for a lack of better term for what just happened.

"You healed me," her tone sounding surprised for the ever composed druid. 

His eyebrows shoot disappear into his hair. "Should I be able to do that?"

She stares at his hand before she shakes her head. "Not without a higher leveled spell that you certainly haven't learned yet.

He feels a bit lightheaded and decides the best course of action is to take a seat beside Ms. Morrell. Without much to say, practice is decidedly over for the day.

-/-

On Monday morning, he's getting dressed for school when he pauses in front of his mirror and examines his appearance. His abdomen still carries the long scar from when he cut into his skin with a knife during the Nogistune possession. The scar is no longer an angry red, but it is a constant reminder of what he underwent.

But today he's drawn to his tummy, looking the tiniest bit pudgy, right around his belly button. It's odd cause he's always been skinny, regardless of what he eats; besides lacrosse definitely fulfills his daily activity and his appetite is still inconsistent these days.He pokes a finger against his stomach, at small protruding mound and finds it's surprisingly firm. Is that muscle? He turns to the side and finds it looks flat enough you can't really tell it's there. 

He's sighs aloud, decidedly finishing getting dressed. The body, man. It's weird like that sometimes.

The week passes with Danny by his side, ignoring lingering looks from Theo, and searching for Liam in the crowded hallways. The few times he manages to meet the freshman's eyes, they widen as he ducks his head and races off. Stiles doesn't blame him, it's a lot of information to take in at once.

He has a few more dizzy spells, but luckily they are at home and his father only catches one.

"Geezus kid, take it easy tonight," his dad herds him to sit down on the couch after he nearly passes out making dinner at the stove. "I'm ordering take out for us." Stiles opens his mouth to object but a stern look from his dad silences his protests. 

As his dad picks up the phone, he adds upset, "I though Ms. Morrell said the magic lessons would help."

Stiles sits up straighter. "They are! I just.." he flounders, not sure how to explain he doesn't know what's causing all this. And he certainly doesn't want to report the mess up that happened during Sunday practice time.

His dad's face becomes soft, coming over to place hand on his head, to which Stiles leans tiredly into. "I'm just worried about you. Deaton had said in the summer recovery time wouldn't be long, but you're still going through stuff that I can't help with. It makes me powerless kiddo."

Stiles leans over to hug his dad's waist, burying his face into his hip. "I know dad. I'm fine."

He hopes for both their sakes he is.

-/-

Sunday afternoon, he walks into clinic and finds Morrell has set up the metal table, as well as a machine beside it. "Stiles" she greets him, motioning him over to the table. "I've been researching since last lesson and I think I have theory on what's going on. If you could please lie on the table."

He eyes said table warily but nonetheless complies, hissing at the coldness that touches exposed parts of his skin. Morrell gazes down at him, rolling her lips. "Stiles I need to ask you if you trust me?"

He blinks. Does he trust Morrell. He thinks they've built good rapport over the years, and she did try to help him when he felt he was losing his mind to the void spirit. Plus she didn't get mad when he sent her flying against the wall last time, so yeah he trusts her. "Um..yeah. Yeah I trust you."

She bestows a genuine smile at him, before turning on the machine. "Can you lift your shit please up to your armpits?"

He pulls the undershirt beneath his flannel up, until it's above his chest. He clenches his jaw at the chill that runs up his spine when his uncovered back touches the table. The druid doesn't comment on his tummy, like she doesn't notice. She closes her eyes, hovering her hand over his chest and murmurs incantations too hushed to pick up. She then grabs a small bottle and turns the nozzle downward towards him. "This is cold," she says with pity. 

She squeezes gel on his sternum, and his squirms in discomfort. Cold as fuck more like it. She then brings a handheld tool hooked to the machine and pressed it down over the same spot, rubbing ti slowly back and forth. The monitor shows an x-ray picture of his chest, his own heartbeat echoing in the room. 

He glances up at Morrell and finds her brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Your spark can manifest itself into a physical presence. And it should be located right here."

Another curious glance at the monitor and he sees the outline of his heart, lungs, and no sign of his 'spark' in sight. 

She then tilts her head and grabs the bottle of gel again and squeezes some on his stomach. He's unable to suppress the hiss of surprise this time. She moves her wand down to press against it and suddenly his heartbeat is cut off, replaced by a hum; like a continuous low hum, almost like monks faintly humming in a church.

"There it is," though she doesn't seem relieved at the news. No, she sounds stunned. 

He himself is astonished as the image on monitor is of a bright glowing orb, large enough to encompass nearly the entire screen. 

"Whoa. Is it supposed to be the size of watermelon?"

Morrell's voice becomes soft. "No." She then swallows thickly and turns off the machine, taking away the handheld tool from his stomach. She passes his a towel as he spits up, wiping away the gel. Eventually takes notice the druid is staring at him, expression open and vulnerable. 

"What?"

She looks like she's grasping for the right words before she starts with, "I suspected something was...different when you came for your first lesson. Your power was strong, but it was presenting as untamed. Except it was only wild in certain provocations. Last session, when the force of your magic threw me against the wall, I knew something was strange."

"What?" he asks, uncertain if he wants to know the answer.

"It was seeing me as threat."

He frowns, before a piece clicks into place. "That's why you asked me if I trusted you."

She nods. "If I had tried what I just did, it might have ended in the same manner as last time."

"Ok, but what does this mean? And why is my spark in a different place than it should be?," he flaps his hands around. 

She gazes down at his now covered stomach. "I think there's something there. Something powerful, and with the way you were sick and collapsed in my office, it makes a lot of sense now."

The reminder of being sick, and the memories of nearly losing his mind, has a sudden swell of uncontrollable fear overtaking him. "Did the Nogistune leave something behind? Something evil-"

"No, no no," the druid's hands up placatingly. "It's not evil. Like you said during our meditation, it's warm. It's _good_."

He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "Ok so, help me out counselor. What's going on?"

"Have you been experiencing anything other than nausea?"

He racks his mind for the answer. "I mean I've been exhausted and my appetite has been out of wack. Some dizzy spells. Why?"

She motions towards the machines. "I got that machine from an OBGYN clinic downtown. They usually use them for..."

Though her statements drifts off open ended, it's suddenly quite clear what picture she's trying to paint. AND HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE! "Whoa Whoa whoa! I'm pregnant?!" he sputters, his near laugh turning into a coughing fit. "Like I am going have a kid before I can finish high school?! What the...what the hell?! Are you serious? Am I the virgin Mary cause I haven't-"

Morrell expression is far from joking. "Your father spoke to me at the hospital. He said you've been struggling with Scott and the others gone. You've been really hurting. I think this is all technically because of the pack, and how hard their departure from Beacon Hills has hit you."

At the mention of the pack, his throat tightens as he swallows against a forming lump despite his mind in turmoil. "But why? I wasn't a wolf," he admits quietly.

"But you were pack," she answers without hesitation.

At that Stiles has to turn his head, trying to hide the way his chin trembles at the words. He swallows against the overpowering lump stuck in his throat and blinks his eyes dry.

Morrell touches his arm. "Stiles. I know this is hard to grasp, but your spark is akin to a beta's wolf and it seems to believe the pack's absence means they are essentially dead because why else....." She trails off, thinking it best not to finish the words he already knows. _If they aren't dead, why else would they leave you?_ "Your spark recognized the loss of your pack, and decided in it's grieving state to attempt to preserve it," the druid's voice is reverent, in awe.

He swallows harshly, his heart aching as he glances down, hand hovering over his stomach. "You mean there's-"

"Stiles," Morrell winces, her brows pinched in pity. "It's a phantom pregnancy. If you haven't had sexual intercourse, as you said, then science and some magic would say there's little possibility it could be a real infant." His stomach drops, her words crumbling like ash in his chest. "But magic is complicated, and sometimes beyond reason. I've never seen anything this before. So I caution you to not get too attached because I have no idea what it could be."

His hand drops by listlessly his side, clutching the table counter in an attempt to look unbothered. "Ok. So say what your dishing is true, and it's a phantom pregnancy. Why the hell am I experiencing symptoms and for how long? And why is my magic going haywire?"

The druid frowns, obviously frustrated with the lack of knowledge regarding this farfetched situation. "It seems to mimic a real pregnancy, but given it's phantom state, it doesn't actually bring about real symptoms, minus the fainting and exhaustion because I believe that those stem from your spark working double time. It's probably why your spark is out of sorts during our lessons, partly because it didn't trust me fully at the time and partly because it is using a lot of it's magic right now to manifest itself. As for how long, I can't say for sure. I'll reach to some of my most trusted contacts discreetly and continue doing research, but I would highly suggest keeping this under wraps."

"Yeah." Because what else is there to say? What the hell would he say to anyone? To his Dad? To Danny? To Melissa?

Hell what would he text Scott? _'Hey dude, guess who got a metaphorical bun in oven lol #magicprobs enjoy your vacation!'_

But most importantly, how would he explain to any of them that he's stuck with a supernatural reminder that the pack is gone and it's all his fault?


	4. I'm just scared that I'll end up, I'll end up, I'll end up alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember BLM is not a trend. It's a movement that must be kept alive.  
> [Please click the link for petitions, donation links, and other resources. ](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/?fbclid=IwAR3KA3oZSEGDRiqtrvlBSUazK0rvIjIgWPDMLkxFJfhNzz5UnluR4xt6pic))
> 
> *forgive any of my mistakes or grammar errors will read over later to fix them

_He's running, knees to the chest as fast as he can down the road, cursing that his trusted jeep was still in the repair shop. Once he had heard from Scott the brooding werewolf and his betas were leaving town today, he took off from his house like a bat out of hell, kicking up dust in his wake. His lungs felt like they were on fire, coals and smoke choking him enough that tears flew from his eyes as he booked it. His legs ached from being sequestered to bed rest for the past few month weeks and a stitch began stabbing him in his side. But even then, he didn't stop running._

_He can't. Because if did, he's terrified he's going to be too late._

_Stiles runs past the Camaro and into the building, taking the stairs two at a time until he reaches the loft, large sliding door already open. Despite the couch and tables still being in place, everything else is gone, the leftover furniture making the space appear all the more empty. The lone figure is faced away from him, silently stuffing items into a small duffle._

_"You're leaving?!" he shouts incredulously, not giving a shit that he's out of breath from his full sprint here._

-/-

Taking a quiet stroll through the preserve, toasted autumn leaves crunch beneath his soles. Hands shoved deep into his red hoodie pockets, he keeps his fists balled tight, not brave enough to extend his fingers and possible feel the firm, slight roundness protruding from his abdomen. 

_A phantom pregnancy?_ That's what Morrell had told him, not more than an hour ago. The word phantom makes him think of ghosts, the kinda that haunt the abandoned halls of places once filled with life; the ghosts that follow his steps like a shadow. It makes him remember the sound of laughter from different pack members, the inevitable petty fights while battling supernatural threats and the collective sigh of relief they all shared when they managed to make it through by the skin of their teeth.

Ghosts make him recall nearly every person he once knew that has departed from Beacon Hills. His spark it seemed feels this loss so deeply, like a tidal wave of death, and it is desperately attempting to keep their memories alive. Sad is not the right word for it. It's devastating and kind of pathetically depressing. 

Like he's a dude for one! No vital organs to give birth to anything and certainly, magic or not, this should freak him the fuck out. But instead, it makes him sad and he just sort of accepted it as one of the many supernatural things that have come crashing into his mess of a life.

Now who's devastatingly pathetic? 

It's not technically even a real pregnancy and as far as he could imagine, it could turn out to be a freaking magic eight ball popping out of him by the end of this! But hey on the bright side of that crazy idea, maybe then he can just shake it for some answers.

'Hey eight ball," he pretends, cradling the black toy and giving it a firm _shake shake shake._ 'When will my life finally be normal?!'

**_'Reply hazy. Try again later.'_ **

If that happens, he will shot put that lil shit into the woods and not look back.

He pauses in his steps, digging his toes in the ground and sparing one daring glance down at his still relatively flat stomach. He flicks his eyes back up and resumes his trek through the woods. 

He doesn't know where he's headed to, but perhaps his feet know the destination that his mouth doesn't dare say aloud. The surrounding trees start to look eerily familiar, accompanied by the lingering, faint smell of smoke in the air. His ears pick up at some commotion nearby, a mechanical rumbling that vibrate through the ground. When he passes through the thick branches of pine trees, he freezes. 

Because what the actual fuck?!

Half of the dilapidated and burnt out husk that was once the Hale house is no longer standing; in fact it's been torn down by a bulldozer while construction workers stand around and survey the scene. Oh hell no!

"Hey!" he finds himself acting before he can think, running straight into the fray. "Hey what the hell are you doing?!"

Many of the crew whip their heads in his direction as he runs towards the bulldozer. "Stop!" he rushes as near to the huge blade without attempting something too stupid, like jumping on it. 

"Hey Kid! Move!" The driver sticks his helmet head out the cabin and shouts over the loud rumbling of the construction vehicle.

Move?! And let these fuckers tear down Derek and Cora's house for shits and giggles just cause they are gone? Fuck no! Hell, he even spares a thought that Peter would be pissed about this.

"Like hell! This is private property!" Stiles waves his arms around wildly, trying to create a human shield. 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone vs. 17,400 pound bulldozer. Yeah....Scott used to say he was brave, but dumb when it came to his half-schemed plans. 

"Kid, you need to back up before you get hurt. This is a demolition site!" One of the other crew shouts, the rest just watching the scene unfold.

"You have no fucking right to do this! This is someone's house!" He's about to strangle the driver if that bastard tries to move another inch closer to what little of the house still remains standing, so help him. "And my dad, who is the SHERIFF would love to have a talk about any and all legal disputes!"

The guy who was shouting seems to understand Stiles ain't gonna be moving from this spot anytime soon, and waves down the guy manually operating the dozer. "Marty, take five!"

The driver huffs, but nonetheless backs the bulldozer up a few feet before shutting down the operation. The worker hop out of cab, taking off in search of some coffee. Stiles can hear grumbling all the way to group of workers doing the same.

'Yeah!' he thinks, glaring at the back of that stupid sunshine ass yellow helmet. 'Yeah, you walk away buddy!' 

The head guy, who Stiles realizes is carrying a clipboard, walks straight over to him. His weathered face carries patience, the grey hair of his mustache giving away the fact he's probably a soon to be grandpa or something. "Ok kid. Wanna explain why you look about ready to chain yourself to this condemned structure as a form of protest?"

"Not a kid," Stiles grits out, but straightens his shoulders, rising to his full height. "Listen, I don't know who gave you the go ahead to tear down this house that belongs to my friends, but you've been misinformed. They may be out of town, but this is still their property. Trust me, I've been reminded one too many times of that fact. So tell whatever rich bastard who wants to tear this place down to build a 3 1/2 star hotel to take a hike."

The guy's eyebrows rise up beneath his helmet but Stiles doesn't falter in his stance. What would any of the remaining Hales think if the one place that was their home was torn down, not even getting to say goodbye to the place filled with memories, even if they are the painful ones that leave you breathless?

The head huncho's expression turns wary. "Kid, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. The owner of the house signed off on this. Gave clear instructions to tear the entire structure down," the guy explains like he's talking to a confused child.

Stiles' stomach drops to his feet as he stares the sprawling large house that's going to slowly tore apart. Derek's tearing down his home? Does that mean he's not-

"Look," the guy motions him over, aiming the clipboard in his hands towards Stiles so he can peek at the documents. The head guy lifts a few paper and points to the very bottom of a page, where clear as day, is Derek Hale's signature in ink black. It looks a bit flat, like something that has been signed and faxed over, later to be printed out. But one thing that signature does not look like is fake. 

"I'm sorry kid," the guy sounds pitying, which just makes Stiles a flush of hot embarrassment. "We're just following orders."

He swallows the bile rising to his throat, not trusting his voice at the moment. He manages to give the guy a tense apologetic dip of his head, before spinning on his heel and retreating back into the tree brush, retracing his steps back from wince he came from. Back through the deserted preserve, brisk pace past too many spots he can almost hear the echo of old memories ringing in his ears. Once he makes it to the former clinic's parking lot, he unlocks his jeep and gets in, starting the engine before driving aimlessly around town, every movement on autopilot.

After a few hours, he finally arrives home to find his father's cruiser parked in the driveway. The sun has peaced-out for the day, leaving the sky dark and the air cool. Even as he shuts the engine off, Stiles remains in his seat, mind stuck on everything this day has revealed. Finding out this afternoon about the phantom pregnancy, he had that knee-jerk reaction of wanting to rush over to the pack and divulge everything, come up with a game plan, the way they used to do before the Nogistune wrecked havoc on their lives. But with all of them gone, he's got to wrestle with this unknown supernatural thing by himself. 

And it's fucking lonely as hell.

But just the mere thought of the Hales, the betas, Scott, Lydia, Allison, everyone, he's hit with the wave of grief so hard he can barely breathe. Gosh fuck, he misses them, and admitting that has him sucking in deep breaths, just to wade through the near excruciating ache. It feels like his chest has been scraped hallow, but it nonetheless stings and throbs.

When Stiles finally does manage to get ahold of himself, he gets out of the jeep and slams the door shut behind him. He ambles his way up the porch steps and uses his key to unlock the front door, the waft of mouth watering food hitting his nose as he enters. His dad looks up from the dining room table, having just begun to lay out some plates and unpacking some take away boxes. The old man has changed out of his uniform and is wearing a sweater with some old blue jeans.

His dad smiles at him tiredly, "Hey, was about to send a search party for you. How was your hocus pocus lesson with Ms. Morrell?"

Stiles gently shuts the door behind him, biting his lip as he shifts his feet. "It was ok," his voice comes out quieter than he meant to. The tone is enough to have his dad's face grow concerned as he sets the food down.

"Just ok?" he probes.

"Yeah..." Stiles trails, slowly making his way over to where his dad. His eyes stray to the floor, attempting to hide the very visible pain in them.

His dad frowns, tilting his head down to try and meet his eyes, laying a hand on his arm. "Stiles. Kiddo, what's wrong?"

"It's-" he tries before he shakes his head, instead choosing to walk into the his father's arms that open automatically for him. He hugs his dad tight, burying his face in the older Stilinski's shoulder. His dad returns the gesture, rubbing a hand tenderly on the back of his head. 

"You wanna talk about it?" his dad asks gently. 

Talk about the fact he's supernaturally maybeyesmaybeno pregnant? Or that he's the reason everyone's gone and uprooting any ties they have left to Beacon Hills?

_He can't. He just can't._

So Stiles shakes his head, instead trying to soak up the comfort of his father that washes over him. His dad, his awesome amazing dad, understands his wishes and just hugs him closer. Stiles shudders out a shaky breath and begs to whoever is listening up there in the universe that though he's lost almost everyone, he won't lose his dad too. 

-/-

Sitting in bed that night, Stiles turns his phone over his hands, debating on whether or not to call some of the old pack.

He could call Scott and ask him how he can stand to be away from home, from his mom, from him? Can he tell Stiles that he has a plan as he always does and everything is gonna be alright despite it feeling anything but?

He could ring up Deaton to ask what the hell should he do about this phantom pregnancy? Has the druid emissary come across this sort of 'miracle' before and explain what's happening and what to expect? How can he just leave his own sister here to run the supernatural shit show and not care what happens in his absence?

He could bug Lydia until she picks up and beg to know if she thinks he deserves this? If she considers his spark creating this situation he's in justification for nearly killing Allison, for nearly killing them all?

And lastly he could bravely dial Derek's number and dare to ask him what hell is the werewolf doing? Why is he tearing down his family's house? Why is he letting people erase that important part of those that remain standing?

But Stiles is so scared to know all these answers. He's so scared to hear more truths that will crumble the last stable ground he's has left to stand on, so much so his hands shake in his lap, and that hallow ache in his chest resurges with vengeance. 

So he goes to bed, decidedly having not called anyone. 

-/-

The warning bell rings as he enters the school, allowing a brief 15 minutes for the crowd to linger a bit, stretch out their conversation as they slowly make their way to their homerooms. Stiles heads right to his locker, twisting his combination in and opening it up. He shucks out his books and grabs the ones he needs for the first few classes.

A solid body comes to lean against the locker next to his, Stiles turning to find it's a grinning Danny. "Hey."

Stiles can't fight the smile making it's way onto his face. "Sup."

"Nothing much. How was your weekend?"

Stiles halts for a split second as he replacing a book into his look, clearing his throat and resuming the task after the hiccup. "Lazy. Took it easy you?"

Danny raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his brush off. Stiles tries to hold out but sighs, shutting his locker door closed and leaning against it, keeping his voice low as he recounts, "Just had a magic lesson on Sunday with Morrell that kinda shook me up." _Among other things._

The taller teen makes a surprised sound. "Magic?" He then casts a quick, uneasy look around the hallway, trying to ensure no one is eavesdropping. 

"Yeah, I have a spark and since Deaton's gone, Mrs. Morrell helps. She's a druid."

"Cool" Danny complements, Stiles unable to stop from feeling happy about the older boy's approval. For some reasons it's so easy to tell Danny these things, and it feels nice to have him accept it so easily. Maybe the fact they are both very familiar with the supernatural. "Are they hard?"

Stiles shrugs. "Sometimes, my spark is a little out of wack. But-" he trails off as she spots Liam making his way towards them, body language reading unsure and antsy. "I'll tell you more later."

Danny straightens, turning to see what caused the sudden conversation shut down just as Liam gets to them. "Umm..hi."

Stiles and Danny respond in sync. "What's up?" They whip their heads towards one another. "Hey! Jinx. Double Jinx!" The two of them huff in laughter before facing Liam again. 

"I...uh..." he side eyes a few people in the hallway before leaning forward. "I came to take you up on your offer."

"Offer?" Stiles plays dumb, in too light of a mood to make it easy. "Do you remember an offer Danny?"

The lacrosse plays makes a thinking face, before shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't recall any offer."

Liam huffs. "You know, with the...stuff."

"Stuff?" he sounds out. "Kid, you make it sound like I'm a drug dealer."

"One crack cocaine please sir," Danny pretends in a gruff voice.

"Well, if he wants something he's gotta ask for it specifically. Might end up with the wrong stuff if you're not too careful."

Liam bites out, "Alright alright," the teen straightens up, jutting out his chin, and puffing out his chest. It's frankly adorable. "I mean with the werewolf stuff."

Stiles smiles, slapping a hand down on Liam's shoulder. "We're just messing with ya kid. You find after the way supernatural shit goes down, you gotta retain a sense humor to make it through. But yeah we'll help you." Liam's frame loosens beneath is hand, and Stiles feels a little bad about teasing the kid.

Danny must as well, because he gives Liam an encouraging nod. "Of course we'll help you, starting this weekend."

Liam blinks, mouth dropped stunned. "This weekend? Th-that's fast. What if I have plans?"

The pitying look from Danny is enough for even Stiles to wince at. "Then you're gonna have to cancel them."

"But why?" the younger boy whines.

Stiles gives Liam's shoulder a shake. "Cause Friday is a full moon." At that, Danny pretends to howl under his breath.

If anything the kid's confusion grows by the statement, but there's a look in his eyes that says he's a little scared about what it means.

_As he should be._

-/-

The weekend's revelations as well as the prospect of helping a pup with his first full moon has kept Stiles woefully distracted. That is until Stiles is about to traipse into his homeroom class and have to sit next to Mr. creeper that has suddenly taken too much of an interest in him. At the last minute, he grabs ahold of Greenburg's arm, hauling the kid over to the side despite the befuddled sound he makes. 

"Whoa Stilinski. What's got your pants shrinking and your nipples chaffing?"

Stiles blinks, cause what the fuck is that expression? Deciding not to delve into that disturbing quote, he just shakes off the comment. "Uh, mind if we trade seats today? Just kinda got a shitty sleep last night and don't want the teacher to rag on me of I'm not paying attention."

Greenburg makes a noise of understanding. "Sure man. Have at it. I like Calvin anyway, guy's pretty chill."

"Thanks," he retreats to Greenburg's old seat, ignoring Theo's head subtly turning to follow him. He plops down and trades a courteous 'what's up' nod with his new seat partner and gets out his notebook, as Mr. Calvin calls the class to attention so Theo has not choice but to look forward. As he begins scribbling in his notebook, sinking relaxed into his seat, Stiles doesn't try to hide his smirk

Turns out it's a good morning after all.

-/-

Standing in the lunch line with Danny, they're subtly trying to plan how to both handle Liam and not end up traumatizing the kid this coming Friday.

"So the location stands to be determined, but how will we make sure the pup doesn't go running off?"

"Mountain ashy Danny boy. Keeps them from escaping."

The other boy hums, nodding. "And chains?" Danny suggest.

"Chains," Stiles agrees, earning a weird look from a girl ahead of them in the lunch line. Ok their subtlety needs some work.

Nonetheless Danny and him trade looks and have to look away from each other, both biting their lips to prevent themselves from bursting into laughter. Let this be a lesson to all to mind yo own business folks!

When people who've gotten already gotten their lunch pass by, he stands on his tippy toes to get a good peak at their trays. He doesn't pull the usual grimace, since today's selection does look edible, and that's probably the best thing he can say about it.

"You really hungry?"

He turns towards Danny, who already looking at him. "What?"

The taller boy motions downward with his head, and Stiles looks down to find his hand had subconsciously been rubbing the slight protruding curve. He drops the offending hand like it's scalding, and laughs off the move awkwardly. "Yeah haha. Didn't eat breakfast and now could eat practically my shorts."

Danny just snorts. "Man you're so lucky being able to eat what you want. I've seen you stuff your face with a whole plate of fries, not worried about gaining a single pound. If I'd did that, I'd be saying goodbye to this six pack."

As the line inches closer to the food, Stiles is suddenly curious on how much this "miracle" can go in terms of protecting and disguising itself. So with the thought of fuck it, Stiles lifts his shirt above his belly button and asks, "Hey remember when I asked if I'm attractive to gay guys? Think I've upped my game?"

Expecting some mixture of surprise and horror when Danny looks down at his visible contour of his stomach now on display, instead he finds the other lacrosse player smirking, 100% unperturbed. "You've definitely toned up these days but sorry, you're just a little too skinny and pale for my liking."

Holy shit. Danny can't see it. Stiles lets his shirt fall back down, and gasps dramatically. "Danny you're breaking my heart."

The guy shrugs, eyes still crinkled in a smile as he bumps his shoulder against Stiles', and Stiles bumps back, until it's a game of who can stay on their feet. Luckily they don't have to find out because it's their turn in line. Thank god for the sake of his hunger and his sanity needs the reprieve. He can later freak out about this minor slip up. 

Because honestly, what the fuck is he doing practically caressing his stomach?

-/-

Lacrosse practice passes in the usual fashion that includes a lot of sweat, muscle aches, and of course Coach Finstock serving out critique and praises abound. Though Coach yells everything, so you can't tell when you're being told your form is shit or you're a blessing to this sport. 

When the two hours of practice are over, Stiles barely makes it to his bag before collapsing onto the ground without any grace. He reaches over to the side pocket of his duffle, pulls out his water bottle, and chugs from it, not even caring his cold drink has long gone lukewarm. Danny manages to at least sit on the bench, sticking out his leg to nudge Stiles' foot that rocks limply on the grass. 

It's then Liam jogs over to them, standing up right with his hands on his hips, barely breaking a sweat. Stiles inwardly curses every werewolf in existence, ranting in his head about the cruel unfairness of his weak willed humanity. Though going by the looks the other two give him, one amused while the other seems just plain concerned, he guesses he mental ranting became a little more like slam poetry night on crack. 

Ok ok. Step one on the agenda for helping train the new pup: _don't scare the poor boy._

Stiles gets agilely to his feet with such remarkable grace, dammit Danny stop laughing, and offers Liam a fist. The younger eyes the gesture like it's gonna bite him, but after a few reassuring seconds of no such thing happening, he tentatively bumps it with his own fist. There's a nervous tilt to his mouth and Stiles decides to cut right through that. 

Literally.

Still fist bumping, he flips his hand open to basically high five the bump. "Turkey!" He announces, taking his free hand and slices in between the two of them. "Thanksgiving!"

Liam startles at the sound, blinking as Stiles turns to grab his stuff, their one member audience snickering at the sudden randomness. Luckily Danny's had years to be accustomed to Stiles' particular uninhibited energy and so he takes it all in stride by now.

He tugs the strap of his duffle over his head and rests it on his shoulder, turning to see Liam's still frozen and wondering what the fuck just happened. But the nervousness is gone, so Stiles will take the small victories where he can get them.

Danny stands and stretches, his jersey riding up a bit to reveal a peak of abs. Stiles glares at that inch of skin, knowing even without the situation of this 'phantom pregnancy' he's never been blessed with a six pack. And he's freaking magical!

The taller senior tilts his head, surveying Liam who awkwardly shuffles side to side under the critical eye. "You hungry Dunbar?"

Liam straightens, perked up like a hungry puppy. "Yeah, I'm starving."

"You're new in town so..."

"Been to Lou Anne's diner yet?" Stiles asks, picking up on Danny's brilliant thought. 

The younger teen shakes his head. 

"We'll how we all shower up then go for a bite at the diner? Great burgers and even better pies. Our treat."

Liam, for the first time he saw the kid at practice, smiles a big toothy grin. "Sweet. I'm down." He then hurries and gathers up his own stuff and Stiles feels this makeshift plan might not be so bad.

Now, on to step two _: feed the puppy._

-/-

" _Mm ma gawd."_

"Yep."

_"Ma gawd."_

"We've know kid."

"Ddthzbrrgrrsdabmb!."

".....Somehow I think I still understood what he was trying to say."

Liam manages to swallow the mouthful he had bitten off. "Dude these burger are the bomb."

Danny snorts in his cup beside him in the booth, gulping down a sprite. Stiles leans back, admiring as the kid feasts on the 'The Whole cow' special across from them, practically swinging his feet beneath the table. It's too fucking cute if he honest.

"Welcome to Beacon Hills kid. Stick with us, and you'll surely learn all of her secrets. Some you wish you didn't."

"Like how Ms. Applecrumb always wins 1st place for the summer fair with her famous apple pie," Danny throws out, slapping his empty cup down and leaning close to stage whisper. "She uses apples from a tree where 99% of people suspect her 2nd husband was buried under."

Liam's eyes widen and that's when Stiles jumps in, "Or the fact that the Mayor is actually a huge furry enthusiast and has been spotted at out of town conventions."

"....Really?"

The two seniors manage to maintain straight faces, nodding solemnly as the younger kid looks like he's just found out there's no map on the back of the Declaration of Independence. But it only takes a minute for their composure to crack, descending into full bodied laughter. "Hell no kid. This town is fine except for the fact everyone knows everyone, and yet not everyone knows it's supernatural hub."

"Oh," Liam leans close, arms on the table. "But why is it a supernatural hub?"

"It's cause there's a huge dead tree stump in the preserve, think the giving tree that has rotted and become a whole lot more magical. It's drawing all supernatural things here. Sometimes it's not so bad, but other times..." He trails off, stuck on sour memories.

"Things get bad, really bad," Danny finishes for him, before steering towards a different subject. "So how did you become a wolf?" God bless Danny.

"Mmm well when I first moved here and didn't know too many people, I would spend a lot of time running through the woods." Oh boy does Stiles know just how something so simple as running through the woods can turn their worlds upside down. "A few weeks into the school year, I was running late at night, close to the edge town when something big furry pounces on me. Takes a nasty bite at my arm." He rolls up his sleeve and shows the faintest outline of a ring of teeth near his wrist.

Danny whistles. "Wicked."

Liam shrugs, taking another bite from his juicy burger. "The thing scrambled away when a car was approaching and I basically booked it home, showed my dad who rinsed it with rubbing alcohol, which frankly _oww_ , and then he wrapped it up in a bandage. We figured if I felt sick the next day I should go to a hospital to make sure I didn't have rabies, but I didn't feel bad the next day or even a week later. I felt-"

"Better," Stiles adds, the younger teen nodding his head. "You felt better, stronger, faster. You can hear from long distances, could smell shit you hadn't even noticed before, and you felt invincible."

Liam looks taken aback by his spiel. "Yeah, exactly. How do you know that? You guys aren't wolves, are ya?"

Him and Danny shake their heads. "Nah I had some friends who were wolves. My best friend had been bitten while we were out in the woods one night."

"My former Boyfriend was one," Danny tacks on the end.

"Liam frowns. "Do they go to our school? I didn't notice anyone else out of the ordinary."

Stiles twists his mouth. "No, there uh...well let's just say they're not here. But that's a story for another time." He manages to give a half-hearted smile, and Liam luckily takes the hint.

"So...these people you guys were close to, the one with," he makes show of showing his teeth and curling his hand in a claw shape. "Is that how you guys learned about this?"

Stiles shrug his shoulder. "Pretty much. Kind of a learn as you go sort thing. It helped that one of them was born a wolf."

Liam's mouth drops open. "Whoa. That's possible?!"

"You'd be surprised to find how little is _not possible_ in this town," Danny quips, raising his eyebrows for good measure.

The three of them fall silent as they resume eating, the youngest of their little trio probably trying to choose another question to discuss. The waitress comes by to refill drinks as well as bring them a dessert menu, and oh my god pie sounds amazing right now.

"Why Friday?" the kid pipes up.

Stiles blinks. "Hmm?"

"Why do we need to start 'training' on Friday? You said because of a full moon?"

Stiles sets his fries down and straightens in his seat, knowing this is where they get to the serious business. "On a full moon, a werewolf is at their most animalistic. Think of it like a wolf howling wildly at a full moon, but they can't stop. Well in this case, your wolf side wants to take over, give into the _'I'm gonna bite everything I see'_ desire coursing through your veins, the call of the wild to hunt little woodland creatures. That makes it a challenge, because without proper safety measures, you can be very dangerous to passerbys or drunken fools taking a midnight stumble through the woods. Your wolf will be nearly impossible to control on your own."

"Usually you have to chain them up," Danny wiggles his eyebrows. "You know, for safety. It's what I had to do with my ex."

Stiles gasps, whipping towards his friend. "Danny my boy, didn't know you were into that."

The other senior rolls his eyes, while Liam sits there looking equally terrified and flustered at that train of thought. Stiles takes pity on the kid, and attempts to ease his worries. "It doesn't hurt. I had to handcuff my best friend to the radiator during his first full moon. He nearly killed me but I think with a little practice, we got it down."

This only seems to make Liam more anxious, eyes shifting back and forth between them. "So your saying I essentially become a monster. Will I...kill people?"

Danny and him immediately jump to soothe the kid. "No, no, no." "You'll be fine. "You have us!" "And we believe in you." "You want another milkshake kid?!"

The last one causes this little chuckle from Liam, who deflates in his seat like a balloon. 

"Listen Liam, not all monsters do monstrous things. It's just one night kid. You gotta make it through one night and then you're home free. Easy peasy lemon squeezey. And yeah it can be scary to feel so out of control, but we'll be right with you the whole time. I promise."

"Plus me and Stiles can send you some links to some websites that are pretty accurate on distinguishing fact from fiction," Danny tosses out. "If you want to read up on some stuff yourself."

"And some of that material has saved my hide in the past," Stiles adds. Essentially, research had been a huge factor of why he's still alive and kicking today.

"But on wikipedia it just stated werewolves were some fairytale hooblah," the youngest shares.

Stiles makes a deadpan face. "Dude if I wanted to, I could edit a wikipedia page and make shit up myself for shits and giggle. Trust me, if you do some digging on your own, you'll find some answers that are actually helpful. You just gotta know where to look."

"As long as you don't go looking up stuff on fanfiction sites," the taller lacrosse comments, biting into his last bits of burger.

"Oh god the horror" Stiles bemoans, the images he stumbled upon late one night deep in research were enough to haunt him to this day.

Their humor subsides when they notice Liam's cheeks flush and the two of them pause, staring wide-eye at the younger, who quickly averts his eyes to the window and sips his straw loudly at the last little bits of milkshake left.

"Liam," Stiles groans.

"Oh god," Danny chuckles, shaking his head. 

"I didn't know what else to do!" Liam defends vehemently. "I mean, you search up wolves and anatomy and sex cause I'm a growing teenage boy, and things pop up!"

A few other diners side-eye at the commotion which results in Liam turns even a deeper shade of red. Stiles has to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks.

Instead he offers some comfort. "Hey, no need to be embarrassed. We've all been there before."

"One deep dive too many," Danny shares, a far away look in his eyes giving the impression he's seen his fair share of shit.

Liam snorts, clearly amused and less embarrassed than before. The three of them finish their meals and stay for a round of pie, which is an experience that has the youngest looking like he's just seen the face of God. All in all, they leave with fully bellies and Stiles' wallet feeling a little lighter, but he can't regret it when the youngest peaks nervously at them, toeing his shoe in the sidewalk. "Um..thanks for dinner but also for helping me. It's...yeah," he finishes lamely, clearly unsure of what to say.

But Danny smiles and gives a playful nudge against the freshman's arm. "Don't sweat it." Liam chuckles and nudges the senior back until they're play fighting in the parking lot.

And Stiles stands there, watching on with the side of his mouth quirked up, feeling a whole lot lighter than he's felt in awhile. 

-/-

The week passes by in spurts, fast or slow, all the while Stiles and Danny plan during lunch time at their private table about what'll they need for Friday; they scribble out a list of supplies and whose bringing what. Stiles got jars of mountain ash and Danny has got the reinforced chains. They also write some miscellaneous stuff: snacks, books, fluffy blankets, and everything you need for a sleep over.

Now the big hole in their plan is deciding where to have this first-full-moon-for-the-puppy-sleepover-jamboree. Usually, anytime Stiles had helped Scott during those first full moons it had been at someone's house, either his place or Scott's. 

"I'm guessing your place is out?" Danny asks.

"Yeah, my bedroom won't be able to hold Liam there safety, let alone when he's wolfed out and feeling like attacking everything in sight."

Danny nods, sighing. "Well my place is out. My little sister and parents will be there, so it's kinda impossible to cover up any noise including howling."

Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. "Welp...I don't think the train depot is an option. It was torn down last year."

"Yeah Eth-um my ex said something about how Hale used to stay there," Danny clears his throat, trying to overshadow his slip up. Stiles gracefully doesn't mention it. "But he stated they used somewhere else for full moons. Didn't they use the basement at Hale's place?"

Stiles clenches his jaw and swallows like he's downing cough medicine. "The place is being tore down."

Danny's eyes cut to him, his face dropping. "Oh. I didn't know that."

Stiles nods stiffly, focusing down on his macaroni looking dish as he stabs at a few noddles and scarfs them down, ignoring the fact it barely taste like macaroni let alone cheese. They eat in peace for a few minutes, all the while Stiles tries hard to not recall the last farewell he gave to the Hale house as it was plowed through, the entire structure being brought down and destroyed. He's so lost in thought that when he comes back to the present, he finds Danny looking out into the other side of the cafeteria, gaze narrowed.

"Hey what's wrong?"

Danny shakes his head, immediately schooling his expression into something chill again. "Nothing. Just got distracted." He looks towards him, sympathy plain on the contours of his stupidly perfect face. "So they're really tearing down the place without Hale there?"

Stiles leans back in his seat, nodding somberly. "Apparently it's what he wanted."

And they leave the conversation at that. Danny happens to peak over Stiles' shoulder a few times, but otherwise eats his meal in peace. When Stiles does try to turn and spot what he's looking it, he doesn't notice anything odd that stands out.

So resettles back towards his lunch tray and tries to think of little else. But it doesn't stop him from feeling a prickly feeling at the back of his neck. 

-/-

Friday afternoon, having come straight home from school, Stiles find himself sitting on his spin chair, feet propped up on the edge of the desk with a phone glued to his ear. He listens to Scott sharing what he's been up to so far, repaying in kind with few and sparse details about his normal boring life back here in Beacon Hills. If only it were true.

"The pack leaders been giving you some advice on your planning skills, Scotty? Cause dude hate to break it to you but your 'just winging it' plans need some work."

Scott laugh is crystal clear over, not offended at all at the gentle ribbing. If Stiles were to close his eyes, he'd think his best friend is right next to him in his room, where he should be. _"Yeah, they definitely told me I need to keep working on that. But overall it's been really good dude."_

Stiles smiles, bittersweet but genuinely happy for his friend. "I'll glad bro."

_"I've learned so much and that's why I think I am ready for the next step."_

Stiles stops with his fiddling, letting his feet slide off his desk until they firmly on the floor. "Next step?"

He hears Scott make an affirmation noise. " _Yeah, I'm heading to Japan. There's a clan there that's offered to fly me over and oversee some more of my training. I'm set to leave in a few days."_

Stiles has to hold the phone away from him as he looks up towards the ceiling, rolling his neck before he places the phone back to his ear. "Wow dude. That's awesome. Make sure take more sick pictures for me."

_"You know I will dude, whole albums worth. And if the training goes quickly, I'm hoping to stop by Paris to check on Allison. Lydia says the electro stimulus session are showing improvement and their hoping she'll wake up soon, but are still proceeding-"_

Scott continues to talk but Stiles is frozen, a child taking over his body. He has to swallow harshly against a lump suddenly clogging his throat before he's able to blurt out, "Ugh Scott my dad's calling me, I'm gonna have to cut our convo short. But update me on everything and have a safe trip dude."

"Oh, yeah dude for sure. Tell the Sheriff I said hi and when you get a chance give my mom a big hug for me."

"Well do dude. Catch ya later bro." He hangs up and sets his phone down, standing up from his desk chair abruptly as he paces trying to stave off the onsets of a panic attack. 

Of course that's when Stiles hears a thump behind him and he whips around to find Liam waving from his crumbled sprawl on the floor. "Jesus!" Stiles shouts, stumbling backwards into his desk with a hand on his chest. "Liam what the hell?!"

"Sorry sorry I knocked on the front door but then realized that your dad is the Sheriff and wasn't sure if we have to be stealthily so I saw your window is open and wanted to try out my wolf powers and then I sorta jumped on the roof, and tried to wait cause you were on the phone but then you were done but then I tripped coming into through the window and-"

"Liam," he holds his hands up, and the kid stops his rambling. "First things first. Breathe." 

The younger teen blinks, but follows directions well taking a deep breath before he does something like faint from lack of air he was getting during that run-on speech. 

"Second, my dad already knows about the supernatural. So even if he was here right now, you're good."

Liam's mouth open and closes. "Oh. Cool."

"Third, I'm glad to see your enthusiastic about tonight."

"And fourth," a new voice interrupts as Danny magically appears in his doorway, startling Stiles and Liam as well who flounders like a helpless fish out of water. "We should pick up pizza on the way to where we decide to do this thing."

"Five, good plan," Liam complements.

"And six, dude how the hell did you get in my house?" Stiles frowns.

"The door was open," Danny answers casually, sending a raised eyebrow at Liam, who mind you is still sprawled on the floor.

The teen quickly springs to his feet before sheepishly chortling. "Huh guess I should tried the handle. My bad."

"Well anyway, you brought the stuff?"

Danny turns to show off his backpack, patting it solidly as one can hear the jangle of chains inside. "Yep. You?"

Stiles kicks his foot lightly against the duffle bag lying on the floor beside his desk, mindful there's glass jars of mountain ash in there. And that shit is fragile and difficult to come by these days.

"So," Liams slaps his palms against his thighs. "What now?"

"Well first we gotta grab some food cause it's gonna be a long night," Stiles picks up his duffle bag, and hefts the strap on his shoulder before leading the other two out of his room and down the stairs, swerving into the kitchen to make a pit stop.

"And then what?" the younger asks, glancing around the house and every picture hanging on the wall. If the kid takes notice of one particular picture containing a woman in it with whom the two Stilinski men struggle to think about let alone talk about, Liam doesn't bring it up. 

Stiles digs through the draws, searching for a pen and a note pad. "Well we gotta brainstorm locations."

"Locations?" the youngest shifts nervously.

Danny explains. "We need to get you somewhere you can safely be restrained during the full moon. Ideally somewhere with little foot traffic."

"Ah!" Stiles makes a noise of triumph, having stumbled upon what he was looking for. He takes one of the yellow sticky notes and writes down that he'll be out for the night, staying at Danny's place. Also writes another that suggest his dad please try to eat healthy for the night. He then sticks them to the fridge door, making sure they are in plain sight. 

"Where would we do that?" Liam asks unsure.

"That's where we come up empty handed. Every place we think is either not large enough, too public, or for some reason or another not feasible. You gotta any suggestions?"

Liam shakes his head, shrugging. "I still barely know my way around town. With school and lacrosse, I haven't had much time to explore."

Suddenly a thought strikes Stiles. "I know." He faces the other two guys whose attention shifts to him. "I know of a place."

Step three: _house train the puppy_

-/-

It's dusk when Stiles pulls his jeep into the empty parking lot, the three of them getting out. Danny goes to grab the supplies from the trunk while Liam comes to stand next to him, holding the four pizza boxes in his hands, staring up at the tall building. "Does your family own this place?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Nah, but I had...I knew some people who did." He leaves it at that, entering the building and beginning the long ascent up the staircase to the loft.

It's strange coming back here with other people. Even opening the enormous sliding door and seeing the hallowed space again, Stiles finds the ghostly memories are drowned out by Liam's and Danny's presence as they traipse into the loft and make themselves at home. Having them here allows the ache in his chest to ease for the night, makes staying here bearable. 

Soon the three of them find themselves camped out on the couch and the floor, scarfing down numerous greasy pizza slices and shooting the shit back and forth for a few hours. Liam's at times twitchy, like Stiles when he forgets his ADHD medication, but overall fine for now. Most of the conversation is fueled by the werewolf's awakened curiosity about anything and everything supernatural. 

"Wait you're saying there's different kind of werewolves?" the freshmen's cheek bulging with a huge bite. 

"Besides natural born and bitten, there's a certain hierarchy of wolves," Stiles explains, casually leaned back against the arm rest of the couch. "Alpha, beta, omega. An alpha is considered the leader of the pack, and can influence the followers, the betas. They follow their alpha's orders unless they wanna end up kicked out of a pack for insubordination; but there's some who voluntarily leave cause no one wants to be under a thumb of a dictator douchebag. The bottom tier of a pack consists of omegas; they are the last to eat and depending how ruthless the pack is, they wind up taking abuse from the pack. Packless wolves are also considered omegas, but it can be extremely hard being an omega without a pack. It means no anchor, no control during full moons, and no one to rely on during dangerous times. The research I've read up says some go feral. That is why a pack is everything to a wolf."

"But wait, you guys aren't wolves so does that mean I'm an omega?" Liam asks, eyebrows rising as his anxiety spikes.

"No kid," Danny appeases the younger's panic. "A pack can be made of more than just werewolves."

Stiles points at Danny. "Bingo. Plus just because a wolf starts at a certain designation, doesn't mean they can't evolve. An omega can become a beta once they join a pack and move up the ranks. An alpha can become a beta if they sacrificed their power in lieu of saving someone's life. Or...." he trails, side eyeing Danny and not sure if he should bring up his old flame.

"A beta can steal an alpha's powers by willingly killing their alpha...or being forced to." Danny finishes, and Stiles silently gives the guy props. 

"Whoa," Liam breathes out. "Someone can murder their alpha and essentially become the alpha?"

"Yeah. Be thankful you weren't living in Beacon Hills when the Alpha Pack came a knocking," Stiles picks a pepperoni off his fifth slice, tossing in the air and leaning his head back to manage to catch it in his mouth. Score!

Liam nibbles on his slice, certainly trying to make sense of each new piece of information that is hurled his way. As the sky turns dark, the loft space dims as well, the electricity no doubt having been cut off when the occupants sped outta town. A few rays of moonlight begin to peak in through the glass windows, and Liam begins to squirm in discomfort. Danny, bless him, whips out a portable lamp and sets it up near an open area, helping those here with human eyes to not go tripping around in the pitch black.

Stiles checks his watch and sees it's past 11pm already. Showtime. He stands up, clapping his hands together. "Ok kid. If you have to use the bathroom, I suggest doing it now."

At that, Liam springs up and books it to the bathroom, once of course he manages to find it. A high pitched, irritating sound echoes through the loft space as Danny pushes the metal table to the wall, the legs squealing against the concrete. Kicking aside the empty pizza boxes, Stiles grabs his duffle and Danny's off the floor, carrying them over to said table. He hefts them both up on the counter, the metal chains inside banging agains the hard surface. Then they get to work unloading the supplies, Stiles careful about setting the jars of mountain ash down.

"Ok ready!" Liam's voice comes from behind them, startling both seniors.

"Damn forgot how fast they can move," Danny gasps, hand on his heart.

"Sorry," Liam giggles, the adorableness offset by the fact his teeth are sharp. 

"Uh buddy...." Stiles hints, eyes dropping to the fingers that slowly beginning transforming into claws. "Think it's best if we get you secured you pronto."

Liam follows his line of sight and gapes at the claws. "Oh shit."

Danny bravely and without hesitation, picks up the bulky chains with one hand and uses his other hand to firmly guide Liam towards one of the loft's industrial beams that run from floor to ceiling, this particular one right in an open space that's far enough from any furniture. "Do you want to sit or stand?"

Liam considers his options for a moment before he takes a seat, back against the beam. Danny bends down and begins wrapping the five feet of chains around Liam and the beam, securing both of them together. "Stiles, can you bring the lock in my backpack?" Danny calls back.

Stiles leans over and sticks his hand in, shuffling some blankets aside until he finds the weighted lock, a key sticking out of the latch. He hurries over to the other two occupants, handing the lock to the senior lacrosse player. Danny unlocks it, then winds the open hook through where the two ends of the chain meet, clicking it into place and taking out the key. He stands and pockets the key, watching as Liam tests the chains, which only give a little.

Stiles then detours back to the table of supplies and grabs a jar of ash, twisting the lid off as he makes his way back over to Liam, beginning to pour the ash on the ground and encircle the freshmen inside.

"Wh-what is that?" the youngest asks nervously.

"It's mountain ash. Mountain ash is a werewolf's kryptonite," Stiles explains, curving around the back of Liam as he continues to pour the ash. "It can weaken werwolves significantly if used in some form of a weapon, but if burnt can be used to heal those very wounds. This also happens to be a great tool to use as protective barrier. If you try to cross the line, it'll prevent from doing so. You cannot physically touch it." He manages to finish the thin circle, leaving about a five foot space all around Liam. 

The younger examines the line before looking up towards them. "So it traps me in here?"

"To be frank, it's to help ensure you're not gonna escape those chains and come at us."

Danny, who had gone to retrieve other jars comes back holding them in his arms. "Or to escape the loft."

Stiles grabs two of the jars and heads to the main entrance of the loft, popping open the lid of the jar and beginning to pour it along the edge, creeping towards the wall. Danny starts on the opposite side as they make slow work of sealing the gigantic space. It takes a good half an hour working together in tandem, while they both try to ignore the shift of chains as the lone werewolf starts to feel the pull of the moon.

By the end, all the jars he brought are empty and the entire loft space has been lined. Even the window seals have been sprinkled with ash. Danny and him stack the empty jars on the table, wiping the the sweat off their brows. They turn to check on Liam, finding him hunched over with his eyes squeeze closed. By the tell of his shoulders, he's breathing deeply, attempting to fight the rage gradually building inside of him.

"You're doing good Liam. Just keep doing what you're doing." Stiles encourages, walking closer to the edge of the circle before taking seat, criss-cross applesauce. Danny detours towards the couch, take a seat on the ground to lean against it, semi blocking the way to the door. He opens a paperback book and begins reading quietly.

And so they sit and wait. And wait. And wait.

Passing the time, Stiles resorts to meditation and taps into his spark, the warmth that fills him causing pleasant shivers that tingle through his arms. He doesn't even realize when his eyes fell closed, mind drifting off into a peaceful abyss for a few hours. It's comforting to say the least.

But it's not long before he hears a chilling snarl.

"Liam" Danny warns from his spot, voice firm.

The new werewolf growls threatening, an ominous noise that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck and that's when Stiles eyes flies open. He gets a full view as the youngest's clawed out hands jerks against his chains, breathing harsh and erratic. Moon light spills into the loft as Liam eyes snap at them, golden irises flashing, sights set on him like he's prey.

"It's....it's too getting harder to fight it," Liam shouts, before he snaps his jaw at them, razor sharp teeth glinting the light. 

Stiles quickly rises to his hunches, hands out placating. "Deep breaths Liam, you can do it. I know it's hard but you have to fight it."

Liam sucks in a harsh breath through his nose before shaking his head frantically. "I can't," his voice an octave deeper. "It hurts to fight."

"Yes, you can Liam," Danny nearing them, still in front of the door. "It hurts, but you control this change. Don't give into the wolf. Breathe."

"Breathing isn't helping," he growls, body jerking so fiercely against the chains that the beam he's tied to gives a sinister whine. 

Both Danny and Stiles snap their heads up, witnessing a small cloud dust from the roof stemming from screws holding it in place. "Shit," Stiles exclaims, inching closer to the line of mountain ash. "Liam fight it."

"Ugh," Liam yells, vibrating against his constraints.

"Liam try a mantra," Danny demands. "Repeat a phrase over and over again, focus on that."

"What mantra?" the freshman grunts, desperately trying to keep his wolf from losing control. 

Stiles nearly suggest _'to the wind, to the wall'_ but recognizes know is not the time for jokes. Thus he draws up a blank but Danny quickly directs, "What are the three type of werewolves we talked about? In the hierarchy?!"

Liam frantically looks around, before he grits through clenched, sharp teeth, "Alpha. Beta. Omega."

Stiles nods, staving down the panic. "Good Liam. Now repeat."

_"Alpha. Beta. Omega."_

"Again," Danny encourages.

 _"_ Alpha. Beta. O-omega."

"Again," the two seniors says simultaneously. 

"Alpha, beta, omega. Alpha, beta, omega. Alpha, beta, omega," Liam starts chanting over and over, his demeanor slowly deescalating. Even the gold in his eyes beginning to subside.

"Good," he praises. "You're doing good Liam."

"Alpha, beta, omega. Alpha beta, omega. Alpha, be-" Liam jaw suddenly juts forward, a snarl ripped right out of him as his eyes flash fiercely gold once again. The moon has spurred the youngest, now directly shining on the wolf. A thundering roar racks the windows in their frames. "APHA! BETA! OMEGA!"

The freshman keeps repeating it, but the two of them can see it's a loosing battle as the chains around him start to grow taught and the links slowly bending, coming unhinged. Panicked, Stiles calmly rises to his feet, backing up as Danny does the same. "You checked that we sealed the mountain ash line around the loft, right?" he carefully calls out to Danny as Liam starts rattling in his chains, snapping his teeth wildly. The beam gives another concerning whine as more dust rains down upon them.

"Yeah," Danny swallows. "You think it'll hold him?"

"It's gotta or-" he doesn't get to finish when suddenly Liam throws his arms out, snapping the five foot of chains clean apart. The force sends scattered pieces of links through the room like projectiles, smacking into the walls, smashing a few windows, and skittering across the concrete floor. Stiles is able to deflect the pieces that fly towards him with a quick jerk of his hand, but he can only watch in horror as that sturdy lock detaches from the chains and sails through the air, hitting Danny in the forehead with a sickening thud. The lacrosse star drops the floor as Stiles shouts, "Danny!"

He doesn't have time to rush over to his hurt friend when he hears the chains shift in front of him, his head snapping to the sound as Liam rising menacingly slow to his feet, the useless sections of chains left over dripping off his frame. Liam's face has shifted, hair sprouted on the sides of his face as he growls threatening. 

"Liam," Stiles warns, hand outstretched placatingly. "Liam it's me. It's Stiles. You know me." It's only when Stiles checks the circle mountain ash line around the werewolf, does he realizes with jolt of fear that it's been broken, the broken bits of chain having cut straight through it. His eyes snap to meet golden pools of fury as he takes a step back, the move like a singal to chase as the werewolf launches straight at him.

"Liam don't!" he hears Danny scream.

Stiles trips, landing backwards on the ground his hand unconsciously flying to his stomach as the violent werewolf descends on him, clawed hand poised in the air before swiping down and-

_Stopping._

Stiles gapes, eyes wide as he breathes harshly. Liam hand trembles where it's frozen, hovering a few inches from the curve of his stomach, jaw gritted. Stiles watches in awe as the claws of his hand gradually retract, the hair on his face disappearing as well. "What-what's happening?" the kid asks, his golden eyes and teeth still on display.

Stiles flicks his gaze down to the normal human hand poised above his abdomen and with stupid sense of spunk, grabs ahold of Liam's human hand and draws it down to his stomach to feel the curve. The harsh breath the kid sucks in snaps the last bits of wolf right out of him, the teeth and eyes receding in a blink of an eye.

The kid gapes, horror in his eyes when he realizes he nearly hurt him and this new discovery. "I don't understand."

Stiles snorts, his heart finally having stopped racing. "You and me both kid." 

"Stiles?" The two of them swing their attention to Danny, whose wandered over to them, expression alarmed. But Stiles feels sick seeing a large wound on Danny's forehead, blood trailing down his face and even down over his eyes, standing his jacket and shirt. 

"Oh my god dude, I'm so sorry," Liam sounds gutted.

"It's fine," the senior waves the apology off, ignoring that drops of blood spotting the floor.

"Jesus Danny, get down here," Stiles sits up, waving his friend over.

Danny cautiously comes closer, wary of either Liam or himself, Stiles can't tell. As Danny bends down, he reaches over and places his palm against the side of Danny's temple, careful no to touch the wound. Willing his spark to do it's mojo, the gold veins in his arm slowly crawl up his forearm, seeping the pain away as Danny's eyes flutter at the sensation. The wound on his forehead knits together, shrinking until it's finally gone, leaving behind red stains. He carefully removes his touch as Danny slumps beside him, the cloudiness in his gaze clearing.

"Whoa," he hears the awe in Liam's voice, realizing while all this happens, the pup hasn't removed his hand from his stomach. "What are you?"

"Uh, for awhile I was possessed by an evil spirit. It was very...evil," he adds unhelpfully.

"What are you now?" Liam's drops his stare to his stomach, finger brushing against the solid curvature. 

Stiles turns over the question in his mind, and settles on an answer. " _Better._ "

Liam then continues petting his stomach, nostrils flaring as he sniffs at him. Like a curious puppy.

"I thought..." Stiles turns his head towards Danny, thankfully finding the taller senior looking better. "I thought only wolves could retract pain?"

"We can?!" Liam blurts, voice strangled. 

"I'd say with training pup, though I've only seen Alphas do it." 

"Then how did you do it Stiles?," Danny brings his hand up to brush against where the head wound used to be. "Is it part of Morrell's training?"

"No," he admits, turning over his arm as if to spot the golden veins that have since long faded.

"Morrell?" Liam asks, curious. "You mean the school guidance counselor?"

"Yeah, she also happens to be a Druid." At the blank expression on Liam's face, Stiles elaborates, "A druid is like a witch but little different than the average Hallow characature. There's also similar title of an emissary, which is a druid that is part of a pack and takes on the responsibility of protecting a pack."

"And she "trains" you?" Liam emphasizes the parentheses with his free hand, still unable to make the other let go of his stomach. "I thought you were human."

"I'm what is known as a spark. It's kinda different from a druid or emissary. My power is something that I can train to control, but it also has an autonomy of it's own. When supernatural shit storm crashed into our lives years ago, I could only manipulate mountain ash. Now it's different, and with training I can do more. But as I said, it has a will of it's own. It does what it wants and thus..." he points down to his stomach where Liam human fingers curls in the fabric. 

"Can I?" Danny asks, hand poised unsurely.

Instead of answering, Stiles trustingly grabs his hand and places it on the side the firm curve. He watches carefully at the minute changes in his friends expression, from skeptical to in disbelief. Luckily there's no disgust, no that he would expect any cruelty from Danny. He's just too nice.

"What it is?" the taller boy asks, voice soft. 

Stiles; eyes avert forward, staring around at the abandoned loft. "My spark has been acting weird during the training sessions, sporadic and defensive; it threw Ms. Morrell against the wall during our sparing attempt. She eventually asked permission on day if she could have a look at it using an ultrasound machine and some spell. Apparently a spark is supposed to be located near where my heart is but it wasn't." The other two boys listen enraptured. He points at his stomach. "She found it down here, a bright glowing orb that's like staring straight into the sun. It had a solid mass, and it had created a phantom pregnancy."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Danny's eye bulge wide and Liam's jaw drop. "You don't know this Liam, but when I possessed a lot of bad shit went down. People got hurt. People nearly got killed. And when I was finally freed, we, _the pack_ , were left to handle the damage it had done." I had done he thinks to himself. "We told your our friends and Danny's ex were how we learned about this stuff. That was true. But when we said they weren't here right now, that's where it gets complicated. They left. They all left Beacon Hills. And because I had been with this rag tag pack since the beginning, it felt like my whole world came crashing down. But what I didn't know, is that my spark felt their absence like a death." The thought clogs his throat for a moment, and he has to breathe through the pain.

An arm slips around his shoulders, Danny scooting closer to offer his support. Stiles swallows, glancing at the freshman. "A spark is akin to your wolf, Liam. It's connected to you and it feels everything you feel, it feeds off every emotion you experience. When you're angry, it uses that rage to nearly go berserk. When you're depressed, it goes into a state of grieving. Ms. Morrell thinks that in my personal grief, my spark felt the loss so strongly it did what should be impossible. It's trying to preserve the pack that left _._ "

Liam's eyes trail down. "Does that mean it's really-"

Stiles shakes his head. "It can't be. She said she's never seen or heard anything like it before. Even with magic, this well beyond what we know. It could turn out to be a poof of glittery smoke by the end of this, hell if I know."

"But it's like...solid," Danny struggles to find the right words. "I mean at lunch earlier in the week you lifted your shirt and it was flat as board."

"You saw Liam stop, it has a mind of it's own. It protects itself and essentially me from harm. It can cloak itself. That day I was testing to see if you tell but you didn't even notice. I think I have to be the one to share it with people I trust in order for them to know of it's existence." 

"Whatever it is, I felt this rush of calmness come over me," Liam shares, biting his lip. "I don't what it is, but it feels like the rage I felt suddenly vanished."

They all fall silent, contemplating life when Danny looks at his watch, whistling. "Well it's 5 am. Sun comes up in a few hours."

Liam perks up. "You mean I made it through?"

"Pretty much," the senior praises. "Good job kid."

Liams huffs lightly, shoulders relaxing. "Can't believe I did it. You know for a minute I thought I was gonna tear the two of you apart."

Now that the danger is over, Stiles' sarcasm kicks itself back into gear. "Yeah that would made for an awkward ride home so thanks."

Danny snickers as Liam chuckles and soon Stiles joins in, cause holy shit. The pack is gone and it's just the two of them raising a new werewolf from scratch and hold shit they did.

Their little trio did it.

-/-

The sun has begun to settle high in the sky during this chilly morning, and Stiles can feel his eyelids dragging down, sockets feeling puffy. He probably looks like a raccoon, confimring so when he catches glimpses in the rearview mirror as he drives the three of them back to his house. He doesn't know what he's craving more: a cup of coffee or his bed? To quote the chipper taco commercial, _'Porque no los dos?'_

As they pull up to the house, dread fills his stomach as he takes notice of two cruiser's, including his dad's. Behind them is Ms. McCall's car and an unfamiliar car in the drive way. "Shit."

"Whoa what's going on?" Danny sits up in the passenger seat, casting a nervous look towards Liam in the backseat. "You told your parents you were going be out with a friend right?"

Liam nods frantically, while Stiles pats his pants, coming up empty. "Oh damn," he bonks his head against the steering wheel. "I left my phone on my desk last night, so if my dad couldn't get ahold of me, then he's probably going nuts."

"Think he contacted my parents?" Danny asks with wince.

"Shit," Stiles turns off the ignition and gets out the jeep, the other two following his lead. They make their way up the porch and Stiles decides to be polite and knock on the front door.

He's surprised when Deputy Parrish opens the door, instantly relieved at the sight of them. "Thank goodness. You're dad was about to send out an APB for you."

Stiles cringes, the trio of them entering his house to surprisingly find his dad and Melissa in deep conversation with Ms. Morrell. Their attention zeroes on him when Parrish closes the front door audibly, his dad immediately rushing over to him to hug him. "Jesus kiddo. What were you thinking disappearing last night and leaving your phone here?"

Stiles blinks but hugs his dad back, patting him on the back. "I'm sorry I forgot here last night. I left a note on the fridge."

His father lets him go to give him his stern face. "Your note said you went to stay the night at Scott's place."

_Record scratch_

"Oh." Stiles feels a dark cloud suddenly forming over him, realizing he made such a pathetic mistake. "I- sorry dad, I didn't even realize-"

Melissa, with sympathy in her eyes, jumps in to his defense. "Hey, sometimes I come home from work expecting to see him there and forget as well."

Stiles winces, feeling his earlier good mood nosedive into the region of 'fucking worse'.

"Kiddo, what was so important to go missing nearly all night?" He can tell his dad's remembering old wounds of similar circumstances. Disappearing days on end, turning up half dead.

"I was out with friends," he tries to explain, his dad's expression reading unimpressed.

"Sorry Mr. Stilinski," Danny chimes in, his dad facing him. "Stiles was out with me and Liam over here, helping him."

Liam gives a little wave, "Sheriff," he dips his head, looking about ready to bow if the decorum calls for it. 

Welp. Step four: _introduce the puppy to the family_

"Help with what?" his dad narrows his eyes.

"Dad," he whines. He decides it's better to rip off the metaphorically band-aid, and what better way to do so when everyone present knows of the supernatural. "Liam is a new werewolf. It was a full moon and so we had to kinda coach him through it."

The adults in the room pause, all looking at the youngest teen who gives them am awkward smile. "I made through. And I didn't kill anyone, I swear."

Stiles face palms, while Danny snorts aloud at the kid's genuine honesty. His dad gratefully looks less suspicious, shaking his head. "Jesus Stiles. Did you find this kid in the woods too?," tone amused.

"No sir, Sheriff sir," Liam walks closer until he's practically latched onto Stiles' side. "We go to the same school and are on the lacrosse team together, first string."

His dad tilts his head. "How old you?" 

"15 sir."

"A freshman on first string. Nice! I remember playing back in the old days," Parrish comments.

"Jordan you graduate around 7 years go," Melissa says. "Talk about the old days when you're my age."

"Man, you don't look a day over 25," Jordan compliments, to which she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. 

"Smooth," Danny, Stiles, and Liam mutter under their breath. "Jinx!" "Double jinx." "No you Jinx." "You can't jinx a jinx back."

"Boys," his dad says. "It is too early for shenanigans when we've been up most of the night worried sick."

"Sorry sir," the three of them apologize. 

His dad huffs, humored but eyes the proximity to which Liam is leaning against him warily. "Is there something going on here you wanna inform me about?"

"Something?" Stiles asks, perplexed.

"Son," unexpectedly his dad is actually addressing the term to Liam, not him. "Now as Stiles' father, I know he's exceptional but he's way too old for you. And in the state of California-"

"Whoa who whoa!" Stiles flails his arms. "Slow the roll and hold the phone pops. Nothing is going on between me and Liam. He's a friend, a protege."

His dad flusters but doesn't do anything other than lift a brow at their closeness, Liam's hand holding the edge of his hoodie not helping.

"He's like a baby duckling. He imprinted on Stiles," Danny jokes. 

Liam huffs but doesn't deny which, oh my god really? One phantom pregnancy and he's already a werewolf parent?! Jesus. Going by his dad's expression, he's going through a mid life crisis as well at the thought.

Morrell laughs dispelling the tension, her face smiling in a rare instance of amusement. "Well I'm glad you all are ok. Full moons aren't easy to handle."

Stiles throws an arm around the younger's shoulder, giving him a friend jostle. "Liam here did great. There was close instance," Stiles adds, mouth not quite catching up with his mind that's alarmed at why he said that. "But Liam was stopped when..." he trails off. Morrell tilts her head, but after a brief second her eyes twinkle with understanding.

"When what?" Melissa asks.

"When his spark intervened," Morrell supplies, her eyes drifting to Liam and Danny. "Stiles told you?"

They both nod and his dad flick eyes between the three, looking uncomfortable at being out of the loop. "What's going on? Is this about his powers?"

Morrell meets his eyes, the decision up to him. Welp he already told his friends. Might as well tell people he considered family, even Parrish.

With a deep breath, he grabs his dad's hand and motions for Melissa and Parrish to come closer. Danny and Liam plops into the seats situated around the dining table, the youngest scooting as close as possible as he can without knocking him over. Yeah, Stiles can see the werewolf protectiveness instincts are kicking in full force.

"There's something I need to tell you all," he manages to starts, Morrell gripping his shoulder for support. "And let's just say that in terms of the supernatural, this one is a doozy." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *just to note: Derek and the others left at the beginning of summer, a few weeks after the Nogistune events
> 
> *also want to say that during the Nogistune events, Kira and Malia were not there. It was kind of a fub up on my part, but now I like that it works out alter. They come later to be introduced in the story.
> 
> *Parrish's supernatural awakening happened back during during Nogitstune stuff (replacing the kira/malia storylines in the original timeline)


End file.
